


Ten Little Hunters

by KouriArashi



Series: The Sum of Its Parts [15]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, F/M, Hunter Politics, Isolation, M/M, Magic, Multi, Mystery, Pack Feels, Werewolf Hunters, bamf everyone really, the stirring finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 72,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5658349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KouriArashi/pseuds/KouriArashi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The final installment of TSOIP! Stiles and the pack head to enemy territory for the Conclave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! First I want to give you all an enormous hug and thank you for following this series. Writing it has been a blast, and you've all been so amazingly supportive. I couldn't ask for a better audience!
> 
> Before you ask, yes, the title is a reference to the Agatha Christie novel, _And Then There Were None_. I do not pretend to be as amazing as Agatha Christie but I've always loved that book and it's been fun to use it as inspiration for this.
> 
> Last things last! A couple warnings for this series. It's going to be more violent than some of its predecessors, and some of that violence will be onscreen. There will be the usual discussions of drugs, sex, misbehaving teenagers, et cetera. There is also going to be one onscreen suicide. Although I don't want to spoil it besides saying it's not someone that any of you really care about, I know that anything regarding suicide can be a huge trigger for people, so if you need details, please feel free to ask me about it on tumblr!
> 
> That's it, enjoy!

 

Stiles is in the middle of his final exams when he finds out that the Conclave is going to be held on Stoddard territory. Somehow, he isn’t surprised. There were four families that had offered to host: Nazario, Aronsson, Winchester, and Stoddard. It had been done by random drawing by Julien Argent, and the Stoddard family’s number had come up.

“And I’m sure that this has nothing to do with Sally at _all_ ,” Stiles says, practically rolling his eyes into the next hemisphere. But he doesn’t say anything about it. He’s not thrilled with the idea of having the Conclave on her territory, but it wasn’t as if she’d ever had any trouble acting outside her territory. Being in Wyoming instead of New England probably wouldn’t slow her down a bit.

Surprisingly, Stiles is going to the Conclave as an invited guest. Chris had been talking to the other heads of the families, and he had made a push to get some non-hunters invited. The entire purpose, he said, was education. Why not invite their supernatural allies? Who better to explain the purpose of the Alpha Pack than the Alpha Pack themselves? After all, they were in the business of protecting innocents, just like the hunters.

A lot of hunters had hated the idea, of course, but with help from his allies, Chris manages to get it pushed through. The Hunter Council, comprised of the heads of each family, is eleven people. Now that Sam is on it, having taken over Henry Argent’s territory, Chris had the extra vote he needed.

So Stiles is invited, basically as a liaison between the hunter and the supernatural community, along with Justin. Chris invited Dr. Deaton to represent the Druidic Council. Lorelei was invited to represent Oblivion, but declined the offer. And Stiles quietly, under the table, invited Ian. It’s not even that he thinks Ian deserves an invitation, but he wants the backup. Nobody is comfortable with how likely this is to end in disaster, even _without_ Sally’s machinations.

After listening to all this, Sheriff Stilinski invited himself to ‘represent mundane law enforcement’. Stiles is interested to see how that’s going to go, since he has no doubt that the hunters won’t want him there. Tom clearly gives zero fucks about their opinions, and Stiles always enjoys watching his father shut someone down.

The Conclave is going to be held at a resort on an island just off the coast of Maine. Stiles packs extra sweatshirts. The Stoddards have rented the entire lodge for the week, so it’ll be just invitees and a few staff members. Stiles thinks about how isolated it’s going to be and hopes that they find his body if Sally throws it in the ocean.

After some discussion, they decide to make a road trip out of it. Derek hates flying on general principle, and Stiles hasn’t been fond of it ever since Sally sabotaged their plane. He’s going to be nervous the entire time and it just won’t be good for him. It’ll take four or five days, but he’d still rather drive. Tom dryly asks if he plans to rent a school bus, but in the end they decide to caravan. They stop frequently and eat at greasy restaurants and have a good time.

They get to the island at about three PM, so they’re a little early, but from the other cars Stiles sees in the parking lot, they’re not the first to arrive. The island isn’t far from the mainland, connected only by a narrow bridge. Stiles supposes that they’re lucky they don’t have to take a ferry. He parks in the lot next to the lodge, which is a lot bigger than he had expected and beautifully rustic. The others pull up next to him as he’s grabbing his stuff from the trunk and Derek is hopping out of the front.

Weapons are to be peace-bound and unloaded at all times during the Conclave, and Stiles had thought long and hard about what to bring. In the end, he brought his .38 on general principle, but he left his baseball bat at home and brought his modified lacrosse stick instead. It’s weighted so he can use it like a staff, and he’s worried more about fighting humans than werewolves.

The front doors of the lodge are propped open, so they cross the deck, which is scattered with cushioned chairs and little patio tables, and head inside. They come into a wide open foyer, the back of which is lined with alternating French doors and bay windows with cushions. The floor is solid wood paneling, and there’s a fireplace on the wall opposite the entrance. It’s an enormous room, with several sets of chairs and sofas, as well as a grand piano. There are staircases on either end that lead up to a balcony, which is lined with doors and hallways.

“Nice place,” Tom says, glancing around. Stiles sees a little sign that says ‘registration’ with an arrow to the right, so he starts to follow it.

Before he can go more than two steps, he hears the clunk of boots and a man comes down the hallway. It’s Jim Stoddard, and he’s just as big and imposing as Stiles remembers him being. He’s wearing a huge frown with his impressive beard, and stops in front of Stiles with his arms folded across his chest. “You brought your _entire pack_?” he says, tone incredulous. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Well, let me tell you,” Stiles says, because it’s an opening too good to pass up. “I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced. This is Derek, my lupa. You might remember him from such misadventures as Kate Argent murdering his entire family without provocation or cause, or his sister spending three years in a hunter prison despite having done nothing wrong. Oh, and this is my father, Sheriff Tom Stilinski, whom you might remember from when Gerard Argent tried to kill him to hide his involvement in a crime.”

Jim Stoddard’s jaw twitches.

“And as to who I am, my name is Stiles Stilinski,” Stiles continues. “You might remember me from incidents in which Vivien Nazario turned automatic weapons on me and my pack in a forest, or Ruben Gutierrez trying to frame me and have me killed, or Eli Whitaker trying to destroy me and my entire pack, or Henry Argent trying to assassinate me, so yes, since you ask, I _did_ bring my entire pack. Is that a _problem_?”

“It’s not what we agreed on,” Jim says, with a thin smile.

“You didn’t tell me who I could bring,” Stiles says. “It’s not like you’re the only Stoddard here. There’s got to be four or five of you, plus the freelancers who work with your family. So why are you allowed to bring all of them, but I’m expected to come all alone and vulnerable?”

“Bringing your entire pack is a sign of aggression.”

“No, it isn’t. You know enough about werewolf packs to know that separation is uncomfortable for us, so bringing them along everywhere I go is pretty much just par for the course. Also, packs get very unhappy when their alpha walks into danger without them.”

“The whole idea is learning to show that we’re on the same side,” Jim says.

“Then fucking show me, Stoddard,” Stiles says, getting in his face. “Because from where I’m standing, it’s you guys who need to start making that clear. Not me.”

Jim opens his mouth to say something else, but before he can, Sally bounces down the hallway, dressed only in a neon orange bikini and denim cutoffs. “Uncle Jiiiiiim,” she says, hanging on his elbow. “The pool is too cold and I’m already bored, can I go to Bar Harbor for a bit?” she asks, exaggerating a pretend accent and saying it ‘Bah Hah-buh’. Then she perks up and says, “Oh, hey, Stiles!”

“Sweetie, I need you to finish – ” Jim frowns and then turns back to Stiles, who’s already shepherding his pack towards the registration desk. “We’re not done with this, Stilinski.”

“I look forward to the continuation,” Stiles says over his shoulder. On the one hand, he appreciates Sally’s intervention, because it got him out of the argument. On the other, he’s not exactly comfortable with the fact that Sally clearly wants him and his pack on the island. She probably has horrible things planned for them.

Tom shakes his head a little as Stiles walks up to the registration desk. It takes a few minutes and they fill out some paperwork and then get their keys. The lodge is old-fashioned, and the keys are real keys, not electronic, brass with a plastic tag with the room number attached. There are only two keys to a room, which is going to be interesting since they’ve crammed the pack into two adjoining rooms, each with two double beds. They’ll be happier that way anyway. Tom has the room across the hall, a single.

The rooms are nice, open and airy. Theirs are on the back side of the lodge, so they have a view of the lodge’s expansive back deck and the rocky drop down to the ocean. There isn’t really a beach. The carpet is pale blue and the furniture dark wood, with cream, patterned wallpaper. Stiles drops his stuff on the bed and says, “Come on, let’s explore.”

 Stiles is terrible at estimating distance, but he thinks the island is several square miles. The lodge itself takes up the northern end of the island. The back of it gives way to the ocean, but off to the side there’s a pool and a hot tub and a huge grassy area. It’s set up with badminton courts, horseshoes, and croquet. Then the southern part of the island is forest. He thinks about exploring it, but it’s getting close to five thirty, and dinner is scheduled at six, so they head back to the lodge.

“This place is really nice,” Stiles says, and Derek nods a little, sketching. The lodge itself has a game room in the basement, with pool tables and air hockey. There’s also a small library with a collection of puzzles and board games, and several common rooms overlooking the ocean. He could definitely see spending a week’s vacation here and loving every minute.

The pack heads into the dining room at quarter to six to see that it’s about half full. The room is easily large enough to accommodate the hundred-or-so people who are going to be attending. Stiles scans the room for familiar faces.

“Hey! Stiles!” A head of red hair bounces out of the crowd and Stiles finds his hand being shaken enthusiastically by Calvin ‘Sketch’ Maguire, who’s now Calvin Arnelle. “Long time no see!”

“Hey, how’s married life treating you?” Stiles asks, as several of the other werewolves greet him as well.

“It’s the best,” Sketch says, grinning, and looks over his shoulder as Wednesday emerges from the crowd. She’s wearing black jeans and a black lace shirt, along with her usual combat boots and black eyeliner. Her dyed black hair is pulled back into a sensible braid.

Stiles is actually fairly up to date on Wednesday’s life. She’s become downright chatty – for her – following her daughter’s birth. She sends pictures and they text semi-regularly. Stiles knows that they named her Morticia Elizabeth Arnelle and call her Morty for short and he laughs about it every time he thinks about it.

“Where’s Morty?” he asks.

Wednesday frowns at him. “Home, with my grandmother. I sure as hell wasn’t about to bring her here. She’s barely a month old, for Christ’s sake.”

“Good thinking,” Stiles says. A few other people are coming over to say hello. Sam Argent is there with his younger brother, Leo, and Wednesday’s younger sister is also in attendance, looking nervous and shy. Jackson came along with Deaton, and he scowls when Stiles waves him over but comes over anyway, nudging Danny’s shoulder. Stiles sees Annika, and waves to her, but she pretends not to see him and turns away. Stiles can hardly blame her for that. She hasn’t talked to him much since Jonas’ departure with Oblivion.

The room is getting noisy and crowded. The alpha pack isn’t there yet – Stiles would be able to sense them – and he hasn’t seen Ian although that might or might not mean anything. But all the hunters are there, and Stiles is enjoying standing in a knot with actual friends, who are standing between him and the nasty looks that some of the other hunters are sending his way.

Gradually, everyone finds their seats. It’s set up like a wedding, with multiple tables and little placards. Stiles’ is printed, along with Derek’s, but the rest are handwritten. Stiles recognizes Victoria’s elegant script. The tables seat eight, so most of his pack is at one table, and he’s at another, with Derek, Scott, Allison, and Jake. Tom seats himself there as well. There’s an empty chair with a placard for Justin. Sketch is seated with them, even though Wednesday is at another table. There are no other placards for the alpha pack, although Stiles is roughly one thousand percent sure that they’re all coming.

He’s annoyed to see that their table is in a corner, pretty much as far away from the main table and the servers as possible. Then there’s a buffer zone with what he assumes Stoddard terms ‘monster sympathetics’. Wednesday is seated there, placing herself back to back with Sketch at their table, along with Chris and Victoria, Julien and his wife, Sam Argent, Deaton, and Jackson. Wilma is sprawled out at his feet, enjoying all the attention she’s getting. Hunters might not like werewolves, but they love dogs.

It would be easy to raise a fuss about the seating arrangements, but he just can’t bring himself to actually care that much. If seating him at a monster table is the worst thing that Stoddard does at this Conclave, Stiles will be extremely surprised. In a matter of picking his battles, this one barely registers.

Sally is at the table with her father and uncle, of course, and Stiles is interested to see who else he can manage to recognize in the room. Unlike the Conclave Chris had hosted, there’s a ‘kids table’, and with Allison and Jake’s help, he manages to figure out who’s there. Sam’s younger brother is seated there, along with Izzy, Wednesday’s sister. There’s two blond teenagers that Allison says are Mikael’s younger daughter and his niece, the daughter of his sister, who had died about a decade previous. Her adult son is in attendance as well, at the table with Mikael and his wife.

From the Winchester family, there’s a coltish young woman of about fifteen, who looks about as happy to be there as her grandmother. Then there’s a black boy of about the same age who’s somehow related to Stella Jones, although they know she doesn’t have children. Angela Peretti’s niece is there, livening up the table with a bright smile and slightly accented English. Vanessa Nazario’s granddaughter rounds out the complement and spends most of her time flirting with Sam’s younger brother.

There are enough names to make his head spin, but Stiles takes notes to keep it all straight. Not just for the Conclave, but for future inroads. It looks like there are at least two more teenaged Stoddards there – Jim’s children, Jake thinks – but they’re seated at the Stoddard table, not with the other kids.

The Gutierrez family is in attendance, which surprises Stiles. They’ve been pretty much ostracized, but apparently that hadn’t stopped them from coming to the Conclave. Stoddard might not want to be associated with them, but he’s probably just fine with having them present to do his dirty work. Less surprising is that the entire set of five siblings is there. Luis is still in jail and Hector had left the country after killing Lilliana Santos, but every other living Gutierrez of their generation has decided to come. They look like a small army, and they’re seated at a table by themselves, speaking in Spanish to each other. Of course, Stiles speaks fluent Spanish, along with about half of his pack – Erica was raised bilingual, and a lot of them took it in school – but he doesn’t bother to listen in after the first five minutes of them complaining about everything. Like Stiles and his pack, they’re tucked away into a corner of the room.

Stiles decides he doesn’t give a shit about any of that at the moment. After some debate and some chatting, Wednesday and Sam drag their table over so they can put them together. It gives everyone a little less room, but it’s a nice show of solidarity, and Stiles appreciates it. It’s fun to catch up with Sam and Wednesday while they eat their salads. The main course is steak, although Stiles called ahead and they have a nice pasta dish for Mac.

As everyone is clearing their plates, there’s the clink of someone tapping a glass, and everyone directs their attention towards the front of the room. The man standing up at the head table is Ned Stoddard, and it’s the first time that Stiles has gotten a good look at Sally’s adopted father. Most people have described him as Jim Stoddard’s quieter, softer brother. He looks small in comparison to Jim, even though he’s at least six feet and broad shouldered, with the same brown hair but only a scruff of stubble in contrast to Jim’s beard.

“Good evening, everybody,” Ned says, in a mellow baritone. “Welcome to Maine and the fifteenth Conclave. Thank you all for coming. We have a few quick announcements to make. We’ve rented the entire lodge and surrounding island, so if there’s anything you need, please let the staff know. There is a storm forecast for tonight so I did want to let you know not to try to cross the bridge in high surf. They’ll put a barrier up if it’s too dangerous.”

He clears his throat and continues, “This year’s Conclave is a little different from previous years, as you all know. I want to welcome our other guests and hope that you’ll all extend them the same hospitality that you would another hunter. We’re all on the same side here. As a reminder, weapons are to be peacebound and unloaded at the Conclave at all times. And as a matter of courtesy, I’d like to ask the werewolves to remain in their human forms whenever they’re in a public space.”

That seems reasonable enough to Stiles, and he nods a little just in case any of the hunters are looking at him.

“We’re going to start tomorrow morning with a seminar from Chris Argent on how to evaluate a werewolf pack.” Ned clears his throat. “It’s not mandatory, of course, but we do recommend that everyone attend if at all possible. Again, please let me know if you need anything.”

He takes his seat and everyone goes back to their own conversations. Stiles looks at Chris and says, “You hate public speaking.”

“You’re not wrong,” Chris says, glaring at him. Stiles bites back a smile and changes the subject, wondering when dessert is going to be served. He forgets about it a minute later when the doors to the dining room swing open.

When Justin enters with the Alpha Pack behind him, the entire room goes still. He has such _presence_ to him, augmented by his size and his swagger. It’s somewhat impressive, Stiles muses, until Erica mumbles, “Walk into the club like ‘what up I got a big cock’,” and Stiles nearly chokes trying not to laugh hysterically. It doesn’t help that Justin, of course, hears her, and turns and gives her a smirk and a wink.

Jim Stoddard is immediately on his feet, and several of the other hunters look like they’re thinking about getting up as well, but Justin forestalls him with a friendly smile and an extended hand. “Hey. Justin St. John. Sorry I’m late. Our plane got delayed, we were coming from Nigeria; you know how it can be with international flights, customs and everything.”

Jim’s mouth has that tight, tense look to it. “I see your entire pack is in attendance.”

“Sure, sure,” Justin says. “Packs don’t split up easy, you know.” Without waiting for Jim to protest, he says, “This is Yasmin Ortega, my lupa.” He goes on to introduce the others. Derek is already on his feet and heading over, catching his sister in a bear hug. Several of the hunters look away uncomfortably, remembering what happened to Cora, and several of them dart looks at the Gutierrez table like they’re half-expecting a war to break out.

It nearly does, because Cora gets a look at them and her lip curls up in that expression of contempt and anger that Stiles recognizes easily. “What are _they_ doing here?” she asks.

Loudly enough that everyone can hear, Derek says, “Wasting oxygen.”

Several people snicker. A few people clear their throats and look uneasy. But then the oldest Gutierrez – Stiles can’t remember his name, but he has the most wrinkles and a lot of gray in his beard – stands up and says, “Miss Hale. We would like to take this opportunity to formally apologize for what happened to you. If there are reparations we can make, by all means, please, address them immediately. We would rather not have this unpleasantness hanging over our heads any longer than necessary.”

Stiles can see that what he means is that he doesn’t want Cora deciding to murder them in their sleep, but as apologies go, he’s seen worse. Cora’s narrowed her eyes at him, and Stiles expects her to make a sarcastic remark, but Cora’s grown up a lot in her year with the alpha pack. “Your prison’s been emptied?” she says, and Gutierrez nods. Then she says, “I don’t want your reparations. Tell me what reparations you made to Liliana Santos’ family.”

Gutierrez grimaces a little and says, “Of course, it was unfortunate that my brother Hector decided – ”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses for what your brother did,” Cora says. “Tell me what _you’re_ going to do. Tell me about the college fund you started for her daughter. Tell me about how you helped Rick Santos get a new job after he lost his old one sitting in jail for six months after being accused of killing his wife. Tell me that you’ve apologized to her family.”

“All this will be done, of course,” Gutierrez says.

“Good,” Cora says. “We’re done here.”

Derek gets an arm around her shoulders and pulls her towards Stiles’ table. Justin follows, along with the others, and he sees the servers nervously hovering. “Hey, just in time for dessert! I guess our timing was good after all.”

This gets a nervous laugh, and Justin doesn’t even seem to notice that there aren’t placards for the rest of the alpha pack. He grabs a side table and hauls it over (with as little effort as a human would need to move a single chair) and gets everyone seated. Stiles stands to greet him and the others while the rest of the hunters look on nervously.

Ned is on his feet again, getting everyone settled down. He says, “I understand that we have something special for dessert.”

Victoria rises smoothly to her feet. “I’ve brought some homemade pastries,” she says, with her warm, generous smile. “I hope everyone enjoys them.” She heads over for the tray to help serve. Along with the variety of tarts, macaroons, and dumplings, there’s strong black tea. It’s flavored with vanilla and almond, and amazingly good.

“Allison, your mother is a goddess in the kitchen,” Stiles says, savoring the first bite.

“My mother is a goddess everywhere,” Allison says, laughing.

Stiles agrees, grinning, his gaze following Victoria around the room as she makes sure everyone has been served. His gaze catches Sally Stoddard, who grins back merrily as she lifts her cup of tea to her lips.

He’s not sure what happens next. One moment, Sally is drinking tea. The next, her entire body jerks and spasms. The tea cup falls out of her hand and hits the floor with a thud that isn’t audible from Stiles’ side of the room. He’s on his feet before anyone else realizes what has happened, and then Ned catches his daughter as she pitches backwards, her entire body convulsing.

“What the hell?” Stiles asks, as chaos erupts everywhere. Someone shouts ‘She’s choking!’ and there’s a clatter as the table is shoved out of the way. Stiles makes it through the crowd to see Sally give a final spasmodic shudder and twitch.

“Sally? Sally!” Ned is trying to make her comfortable and clear her airway. But then something even stranger happens. Sally gives a convulsion like she’d just had an electronic shock. She lurches upright and coughs hard. Then she reaches up and wipes her mouth.

“I’m all right, Daddy,” she says, still coughing. “Think I got a nut down the wrong tube.”

Everyone starts to relax. Ned is hovering anxiously and Jim is frowning. Nobody is paying attention to Stiles, who quietly picks up what’s left of Sally’s pastry and puts what’s left of somebody else’s on her plate.

“Are you sure?” Jim demands. “That didn’t look like someone choking to me.” His gaze singles out Stiles. “It looked like someone tried to poison you.”

“I’m fine, Uncle Jim,” Sally says, and then giggles a little. “Who would want to poison _me_?”

“Someone who doesn’t like us,” Ned says quietly, smoothing down her hair. “It’s all right, though, you’re safe as long as I’m here.”

Jim is still glowering at Stiles. It’s a clear challenge, and Stiles walks over, picks up the pastry he had put on Sally’s plate, and takes a bite. “Tastes fine to me,” he says.

Some of the tension leaves Jim’s shoulders. He looks over at Sally and then back at Stiles. “Okay,” he says. “Ned, why don’t you get her a glass of water.”

Ned nods and gets his daughter back into her seat. Stiles turns and walks away. He catches up with Victoria just as she’s sitting down at their table.

“Cyanide?” he asks quietly.

Victoria says nothing.

“Smart. The almond tea. Nobody noticed the smell.” Stiles picks up his own tea and takes a drink. “Was it in the tea or the pastry?”

“The tea,” Victoria says. “Faster acting in liquid.” She’s quiet a moment. “It’s what she used on Franklin. So it seemed appropriate.”

Stiles nods.

“She hurt my husband,” Victoria says. “I told you that I would deal with it.”

“That you did.” Stiles takes another sip. “Am I right in assuming that there was enough cyanide in that cup to drop an elephant?”

Victoria nods.

“Interesting,” Stiles says. “Then the question is, why is Sally still alive?”

Victoria nods again, and they both look across the room as Ned fusses over Sally. The blonde sees them looking at her and smiles. Ned puts a glass of water down in front of her, and she takes a drink, then puts it back down, idly stirring it with one finger, making a little whirlpool. “Why indeed.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the poor beleaguered "responsible adults" in this series. XD

 

“Magic,” is Jackson’s opinion. “Definitely magic.”

Deaton nods, looking weary and a little shaken. Stiles knows that facing Sally is difficult for him, but he doesn’t say anything about it. “Just after Sally went down, I felt a strong surge of energy. There was some sort of magical intervention, although it would be difficult to say what exactly it did.”

“But magic can’t heal, right?” Stiles asks. “At least, her magic can’t.”

Deaton gives another nod. “As a warlock, Sally can’t do any spells that would heal or – well, promote life. Black magic can only destroy.”

“So that’s what she did,” Jackson says. “She destroyed.” He grabs another one of Victoria’s tarts. “More accurately, she redirected the destruction. She must have cast some spell ahead of time that would channel any harm done to her into someone or something else.”

“Like an anti-voodoo doll?” Stiles asks, frowning.

“Something like that,” Jackson says. “More like a reverse voodoo doll. If she gets hurt, the damage is transferred to the doll. ‘Cept it wouldn’t be a doll.”

“How do you know that?” Derek asks, leaning in.

“Look, magic works best when it’s simple,” Jackson says. “A doll wouldn’t line up perfectly. Proportions wouldn’t be right, size difference, et cetera. Now, most people would use a doll anyway, because they have a conscience. Sally doesn’t. So she would use a person. A person of about the same size and age. Probably a schoolmate.” He takes another bite of his pastry. “Mark my words, in tomorrow’s news there’s going to be a sad story about someone in Sally’s class who suffered a seizure and died, and doctors are baffled by the cause.”

Stiles lets out a slow breath. He looks at Deaton, and the veterinarian gives a quiet nod, confirming Jackson’s theory.

“Don’t forget, I knew Stone,” Jackson says, like anyone was about to. “I know how he thought, and more important, I know how he _taught_. That’s the sort of thing he would have done.”

“I bet she did it after you tried to shoot her,” Derek says, one hand idly rubbing Stiles’ back. “When she knew that you wouldn’t bat an eyelash before killing her. She wanted a failsafe in case someone got through.”

“I know this looks bad,” Jackson says, “but in the grand scheme of things, this is a good thing.”

“Good how?” Stiles asks tightly.

“Look, that kind of magic she did, setting up another living person as a reverse voodoo doll, that’s the kind of thing that even Sebastian Stone would have needed preparation to do. You can’t just do it off the fly. Which means that right now – ”

“Sally is vulnerable.” Stiles feels his pulse quicken. He looks over at Victoria, who’s been listening in silence. “We broke down the gate, so to speak.”

Jackson nods. “If we can get a shot at her now, before she gets off the island and manages to set up another person to take the fall for her, it’ll stick.”

“Okay.” Stiles nods, decision made. Sally isn’t getting off this island alive.

Of course, it’s one thing to say that, and quite another to do it. Even if Sally were a helpless baby, killing her on an island full of hunters, right underneath the nose of her father and her uncle, without causing a bloodbath, is going to be well-nigh impossible. But he’s going to find a way, one way or another.

“Which reminds me,” Jackson says, turning to Deaton, “who else from the Council is here?”

Deaton looks at him blankly. “Nobody. Just me. Why do you ask?”

“’Cause there’s five sorcerers on this island,” Jackson says. “I checked earlier. You know, did that thing where I expanded my senses, yadda yadda. There’s two others besides you, me, and Sally.”

“Well, a lot of hunters work with sorcerers,” Stiles says.

“Nah, I’m not talking about those small-time guys,” Jackson says, waving this aside. “These are powerful people. Plus, neither of them are in the dining room, so they probably aren’t official attendees.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Stiles says, and sighs. “I’m sure all will reveal itself in due course, with our luck. I’m not going to solve it tonight.”

Several people have been watching this huddle and carefully not listening in. When Stiles returns to the table, Ravinder says, “Is something amiss?”

Stiles isn’t sure what to say, precisely. Only a handful of people know Sally’s identity as the mastermind trying to kill them, and fewer still know her parentage or the breadth of her abilities. He didn’t tell anyone who didn’t absolutely need to know, because it was safer for everyone that way. But he can’t hide it forever, and odds are good that by the end of this Conclave, everyone is going to know. So he takes a deep breath and says, “Yes, but we can’t talk about it here.”

Everyone accepts that, because hunters are excellent listeners, even in the absence of heightened werewolf senses. Chris has his arm around Victoria, and he looks tired.

“Well,” Justin says cheerfully, “let’s try to have a good time while it lasts.”

“There’s a game room downstairs,” Scott says.

“Sweet,” Justin says.

They wind up downstairs with an obscene amount of liquor, and it turns into a party. All the teenagers head down, and most of the alpha pack, although Mei and Ravinder opt to head to their rooms. Annika pokes her head down when the music starts, and Stiles waves her in. The werewolves can’t get drunk, but Justin brought a bag of marijuana, and shares it out amiably.

“Are you kidding, my dad would kill me,” Annika says, which amuses everyone since she’s on her third shot. Scott similarly declines – he’s never quite sure what it would do with his asthma – and neither Allison nor Jake are taking part. In fact, Scott gets bored before long and Allison drags him upstairs to their rooms, saying something about knowing where her mother keeps her handcuffs.

Stiles opts for marijuana over liquor because it comes without the hangover, and before long everyone is pleasantly toasted in one form or another. They’re dancing and playing pool and having contests with the darts. Even Cora has stopped scowling. Derek is drawing on her leg with markers. Erica is in Sam’s lap, idly giving him an enormous hickey. Danny and Jackson are loudly bragging about their lacrosse triumphs the previous year. Wednesday and Sketch are moderately hilarious when they’re not sober. Their normal form of showing affection is for Sketch to antagonize her and Wednesday to threaten him, but when drunk or high, they spend a lot of time looking deeply into each other’s eyes and declaring their love for each other.

The few people who remain sober – Jake, Boyd, and Mac – are still having a great time documenting everything that’s happening so they can regale the rest of the partygoers with it the next morning. Stiles lays back and eats chips with Isaac and Boyd, feeling mellow, watching Derek design matching tattoos for Wednesday and Sketch and drawing them onto their arms. Danny has given up on Jackson and started making out with Ethan instead. Aiden hits on Lydia and she shuts him down. Jake takes photographs of everyone with his phone. Annika and Jackson end up in a corner with each other, judging everyone together.

“To old friends and new,” Stiles says, and everyone raises a glass with him.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

“Do you know,” Mikael says, “that I think our children are in the basement getting completely wasted?”

Chris rolls his eyes and says, “No kidding.”

Mikael looks pensively at the door. “Do you think we should do something about it? I mean, they aren’t all twenty-one yet. Annika’s only nineteen.”

Tom sighs. “Let me tell you, I’ve been a cop for over twenty years, and there’s basically not much you can do about underage drinking. I think it’s better to teach kids that if they drink, _when_ they drink, to do it responsibly. Do it in a safe place – ” He gestures to the basement door – “with people you trust, and a few people staying sober to make sure you don’t overindulge, and to make sure you never drink and drive. Forbidding kids to do it only makes it more tempting.”

“Werewolves can’t get drunk, though,” Julien says.

Vanessa gives a snort. “Oh, you sweet summer child,” she says, and opens the basement door. “Smell that?”

Julien sniffs, then gives a little grimace. “Oh.”

“There are actually a lot of herbs that can give werewolves a high,” Vanessa says, closing it again. “But marijuana is the easiest to come by, and therefore the most popular.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Mikael asks Tom.

“Let’s be real, as adults here,” Tom says. “If the worst thing my kid ever does is smoke a few joints at a party with friends, I will be the most successful father in the entire damn world.”

Chris laughs and raises a glass to that.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

The party feels like the calm before the literal storm. Stiles wakes up sometime in the middle of the night to a sudden flash of light and then a peal of thunder. He yawns a little and shifts, surrounded by wolves and feeling warm and mellow. Apparently they all fell asleep in a pile in the basement rather than going up to their own rooms. He lays there for a little while, listening to the howl of the wind and the thunder, before falling asleep again.

The next morning, everyone is shifting and stretching. They’ve already broken the ‘stay in your human form in public places’ rule six ways from Sunday, so Stiles takes a moment to remind everyone of that. Justin rolls his eyes and mutters something about ‘cute hunters and their sensibilities’ but doesn’t actively argue. They crawl back into their clothes and head up to their rooms to shower and change before descending on the dining room for breakfast.

“Stiles!” Sally is already up and dressed, and she waves him over. Breakfast is served buffet style, since there are so many people, so Stiles takes a minute to grab some waffles and bacon and a cup of coffee before he heads over with Derek behind him, silently glowering. “That was rude, you know.”

“What was?” Stiles asks, taking a drink of his coffee.

“Poisoning me.” She sticks her tongue out at him.

“Whatever you say, Sally,” Stiles says. “I thought you wanted to play a game with high stakes.”

“Oh, I do,” Sally says, and smiles broadly. “So yes, I have to admit that you took the first round. But now’s when things get interesting, isn’t it?” She sips her tea. “Surf’s pretty high this morning.”

Stiles glances around as there’s another rumble of thunder. “No way off the island, huh?”

“Not for a while,” Sally says. “Looking forward to Chris’ seminar this morning.”

“I’m looking forward to putting my foot up your ass,” Stiles retorts, and okay, it’s maybe not his best comeback ever, but it’ll do. Sally just clucks and looks disappointed in him, so Stiles heads back over to the table with the others.

“So what’s up with her?” Justin asks, mouth already full.

Stiles looks around the table. Nobody seems to be within earshot. None of the other hunters they’d been partying with have made it downstairs yet, and it’s Wednesday and Sam who are going to take some convincing – mainly Sam. Right now it’s just his pack, the alpha pack, and Justin. So he tilts his chin towards her and says, “Sorceress. Very evil. Wants to kill me but enjoys playing with her food. Acts like a ditz and most people here don’t know her as anything else. Niece of the guy hosting the Conclave, who’s both an enormous jackass and really good at killing werewolves.”

“Got it,” Justin says, and takes another bite. “Keep it on the down low?”

“Please and thanks,” Stiles says. “And watch my back.”

Justin laughs. “Isn’t that why you had us invited?”

“What, you aren’t going to enjoy lecturing a bunch of hunters on why the alpha pack exists and why they’ve been racist bastards for trying to kill you this whole time?”

“Specist,” Justin says, “and I’m going to rub their noses right in it.”

Stiles finishes his breakfast just as the rest of the humans are making it downstairs. Allison is yawning and stretching. “Want to hear something horrifying?” she asks, and he arches his eyebrows at her. “Funny horrifying, not _real_ horrifying.”

“Sure,” he says.

“So I stole my mom’s handcuffs last night, right? For fun times with Scott.” Allison states this without hesitation or shame. “And apparently she got annoyed because she wanted them, for fun times with Dad.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles groans.

“So she went and borrowed _your_ dad’s handcuffs. You know, the ones he carries for police work, not for fun times.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Stiles says, practically falling out of his chair.

“And I don’t mean she stole them. I’m pretty sure she walked up to your father and said ‘may I please borrow your handcuffs for sexy reasons because my daughter stole mine’.”

“Well, that does explain why my father wouldn’t look _your_ father in the eye this morning,” Stiles muses. Tom’s pretty open about sex – he gave him the talk pretty frankly and without shame when Stiles was eleven, and then a more detailed talk when he was fifteen – but there are some things you just don’t need to know about your friends. “Speaking of which, that’s some hickey that Sam has. Did Erica manage to get lucky with him?”

“Don’t ask me, I was gone by then,” Allison says.

Stiles sidles over to Boyd. “So who got lucky with who last night?”

Boyd rolls his eyes and says, “No, Erica didn’t get anywhere with Sam. He kept trying to be chivalrous and buy her dinner, which was actually kind of hilarious. She wound up going off with Justin and Yas. Pretty sure Jackson and Annika hit it off but we separated them before they could do anything they’d regret in the morning.”

“Good man,” Stiles says, watching Sam blush and drop half of what he’s carrying as Erica smiles and gives him a coy little wave. His smile fades as Sally bounces up to the buffet table for a second waffle, and Sam smiles at her and greets her politely. Sam’s polite to _everyone_ , but Stiles doesn’t want Sally getting her claws in him.

So when Sam sets down his plate, Stiles says, “Talk to you for a second?” and when Sam says sure, he heads for the men’s room.

“What’s up?” Sam asks, and then his hand goes self-consciously to his neck. “Look, I’m real sorry about Erica, I know you two have a thing – ”

“Whoa, whoa, stop right there,” Stiles says. “Fact the first: I’m not dragging you in here to tell you to step off my girl. Fact the second: Erica isn’t my girlfriend and she’s welcome to sleep with anyone she likes, including you. Fact the third: I know that she can come on kind of strong, so if you’re too polite to tell her to back off but really wish she would, just let me know and I’ll tell her.”

Sam flushes red. “It’s not that – I mean, she’s hot, she’s gorgeous, she’s just – not what I’m looking for.”

“You want a girlfriend, not a quick lay,” Stiles says, and nods. “No shame in that. I’ll mention it to her. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about Sally.”

“Oh, yeah, Sally.” Sam rolls his eyes a little. “What about her?”

“Well, she’s a sorceress,” Stiles says, and Sam’s jaw drops a little. “Yeah, I know. That whole ditz routine is basically a cover for the fact that she’s the devil incarnate. Half the bad stuff that’s happened to me over the past year has been orchestrated by her, up to and including getting Henry to turn on Chris and Henry and Rose’s subsequent disappearance and in all likelihood death.”

“But – Sally?” Sam sputters. “I mean. Sally Stoddard? That Sally?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. Sam still looks dumbfounded, so he says, “I know. She acts like a complete brainless twit, but she isn’t. Just – watch your back when she’s around. But don’t say anything. Only a few people know and I want to keep it that way.”

“Okay,” Sam says. He sounds dubious, but Stiles thinks it’s the best he’s going to get. He heads back out to the other room to find Wednesday and Sketch poking at the buffet options. No time like the present, he figures, and pulls them aside the same way.

After Sam’s display, Stiles expects something similar from Wednesday. But she listens to his explanation in silence and then nods and says, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Stiles is puzzled. “That’s it? Sam thought I was nuts.”

Wednesday’s quiet for another moment, then says, “Sam didn’t deal with Martin Drake for months. The false face he chose to make himself look harmless was different, but it’s the same basic idea. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice . . .” Wednesday gives a little shrug. “Besides, I trust you. If you say Sally is an evil sorceress, then I believe you.” A faint frown crosses her face. “What happened last night?”

“Victoria tried poisoning her. It didn’t take.”

“Any idea why not?” Wednesday asks, just gathering information, so Stiles explains Jackson’s theory about the reverse voodoo doll. Wednesday gives a little grimace, then nods and immediately grasps the implications. “So while she’s here, she’s vulnerable. That’s a good start.” She glances at her watch and adds, “We’re going to be late to the seminar if we don’t eat.”

“Yeah, I’m starved,” Sketch says, and they head back out. The pack is still hanging around, but Sally is long gone. Stiles lets them know what’s going on.

“Who else knows?” Wednesday asks, as Sketch shoves eggs into his face.

“The pack,” Stiles says. “Chris and Victoria. My dad. Deaton and Jackson. And Mikael Aronsson. But not Annika – she doesn’t know and her dad doesn’t want her finding out. We’re not sure how much Sally was involved with what happened with Jonas, and Mikael is worried that Annika might flip her shit if she finds out.”

Sketch says, “Whyn’t we just shoot her in the face?”

Wednesday rolls her eyes slightly and says, “I imagine her father might object.”

Stiles nods. “Sally’s stacked the deck in her favor. If we move against her here, it’ll be a bloodbath.”

“Didn’t seem to stop Victoria,” Sam says, his brow furrowed.

“Nothing stops Victoria,” Stiles says, and Allison gives a little snort. “I don’t know what her game plan was. It’s possible that if Jim Stoddard had gotten all up in arms and accused me of killing his precious innocent niece, Victoria would have stood right up and said, ‘Stiles didn’t poison your niece, I did, and if you have a problem with that I’d be happy to poison you too’.”

“I’m pretty sure that that was _absolutely_ my mother’s game plan,” Allison says.

“I’m more concerned about Sally’s game plan,” Scott says, leaning in. “She’s got all of us in one place. What’s she going to do?”

“I honestly don’t have the faintest idea,” Stiles says. “She said something to me about how I always came up with solutions that she didn’t anticipate. Well, I pretty much never saw her moves coming, either. So we’ll just have to wait and then react. Trust me, I’m not happy about it either.”

Derek reaches over and rubs Stiles’ back. “Come on. Let’s get to the seminar.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

The room that Chris is holding his seminar in is normally used for private functions, and they have it packed almost to capacity, with over a hundred hunters plus all the other invitees. It’s one of the few interior rooms, with only a few small windows, but Stiles can still hear the occasional rumble of thunder. Stiles glances around to see if everyone is really there, and as far as he can tell, everyone is. He sees the Stoddard brothers, Vanessa, Stella Jones with an enormous scowl, even the Gutierrez clan, sitting in a tight knot. The only people who aren’t attending are the Alpha Pack. Justin seems to think that their presence will only distract from what Chris wants to say, and Stiles thinks he’s probably right.

Chris steps up onto the podium and clears his throat. “So,” he says, “when it comes to evaluating a werewolf pack, there are a few things to keep in – ”

There’s an enormous crack of thunder, and the room goes dark.

“Son of a – ” Chris says, exasperated. There’s some general chaos as people reach for flashlights or for their cell phones. Dim light flickers from corner to corner.

“Just a power outage, nothing to be – ” Ned Stoddard starts, and that’s when there’s a huge crash and a bunch of creatures come hurtling through the windows.

Even with the dim light from outside and the hunters with lights, it’s almost impossible to tell what’s going on. There’s a scream, a thump, the smell of fresh blood. Stiles finds himself shoved to the floor with half a dozen pack members on top of him. “Don’t shift!” he shouts, terrified that the hunters will see his pack and think they’re the enemy.

“We need light!” a female voice shouts, shrill and frightened.

Moments later, the room is bathed in a golden glow. Stiles catches a glimpse of Deaton standing on a chair, unhurried and unafraid, with what looks like a small sun cradled in his hands. There are more loud noises, an inhuman screech, and then finally the noise ceases and Stiles manages to get back to his feet.

“What happened?” Jim Stoddard demands.

Mikael Aronsson looks over, a smear of greenish fluid on his cheek. “Ghouls,” he says grimly.

Stiles has never fought a ghoul because it’s impossible for them to pass as human, so they usually stick to their own little swamps. He’s read about them, however, and he knows that they’re among the most dangerous supernatural creatures. Usually seven or eight feet tall, with thick, tough skin and flexible joints. Unlike a lot of ‘monsters’, they have absolutely no conscience, and they’re carnivores who consider human flesh a delicacy. They’re also hard to kill and can take a lot of damage before they go down.

In this environment, it was a slaughter. They had slammed into one side of the assembled hunters like a tornado with teeth. In the darkness, with their weapons unloaded, even the most experienced hunter had been vulnerable to the attack. Deaton’s light had helped, and the hunters further back in the crowd had managed to get organized enough to take them down.

“Ghouls? Here?” Julien asks, startled, as they start to take stock of the damage. It’s bad. One of the Winchester brothers was killed, along with Stella’s top lieutenant. There are fourteen dead and another half dozen badly injured.

Things get busy while the injured are tended to. The body are lined up at the back of the room. Stiles only then notices his father hovering at his side, frowning. “Jesus, Dad, it isn’t safe – ”

“For either of us,” Tom says, which shuts Stiles up, momentarily. He walks over to Ned. “Does this place have a generator?”

“Uh – I think so,” Ned says.

“Send the freelancers to their rooms,” Chris says. “Council members, stay here. Everyone else – out.”

“I’m going to – ” Stiles begins.

“You’re not staying here, you piece of shit!” Stella shouts at him. “Where the fuck were you? You werewolves aren’t good for much but if you’d lifted a finger to help, people might not be dead!”

“Stiles, you can’t stay,” Chris is saying almost simultaneously.

Stiles waits until Stella is done yelling before saying, “I understand that you’re upset so I won’t take that to heart, but my werewolves didn’t intervene because I was afraid that in this environment, they would have been mistaken for more enemies. I didn’t know what we were dealing with, and we had explicitly been told not to shift.” To Chris, he adds, “I wasn’t going to ask to stay. What I was going to say was, I’m going to go ask the hotel staff about a generator. I doubt they have enough power for the entire lodge, so we’ll need to focus on the areas that really need it.”

Tom nods and squeezes his son’s shoulder. “Does the staff know what kind of convention this is?” he asks, and Ned shakes his head. “Okay. Be circumspect, Stiles.” To the others, he says, “Someone should round up the kids and make sure that they get somewhere safe.”

“I’ll do that,” Deaton says. “Jackson can help me.”

“I’ll go with you,” Annika says, and Mikael gives her a quick hug.

Stiles exchanges a quick glance with Allison, who obviously intends to stay with her father. She gives him a nod to indicate that she’ll call him if she needs anything. Stiles rounds up the rest of the pack and heads out into the darkened lodge.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's kick things up a notch. =D

 

It only takes Stiles a few minutes to find the manager of the resort, who’s bustling around and giving orders. “This is nothing!” he says cheerfully, when Stiles inquires about whether or not the power outage will be a problem. “You should’ve been here when Hurricane Bob came through, back in ’91! This is just a little squall. It’ll blow out by tonight. We’ve got enough generators that they’ll keep the kitchens going. You guys can have some romantic dinners by candlelight and everything will be back on by morning.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, thinking that although he’s fairly sure the manager has just jinxed them, at least there are generators to keep the kitchens going. The staff are already moving around, building up fires in the fireplaces, lighting candles and lanterns. They’ve clearly dealt with this sort of thing before, and nobody really seems worried.

Still, he’s curious, and he pulls out his phone, grimacing at the two bars at the top. The unreliable wi-fi network is something he definitely does not love about this island. He’s not sure if it’s interference from the storm or just the remote location, but he’s had two bars, flirting with three, since they got there.

“What are you up to?” Tom asks, leaning over to see what he’s looking at.

“I’m looking at the weather forecast,” Stiles says, pulling up the website and looking at the radar. There are all sorts of warnings on the page. Flood warnings, surf warnings, wind warnings. He skims past them. As he had half-expected, the storm is very intense, and very localized. He gives a little grimace and goes looking for Deaton.

“So what are the odds that this storm is not natural?” he asks the Druid, when he finds him distributing candles to the teenagers.

Deaton glances at him and sighs a little. He seems vaguely uneasy, uncomfortable. “It’s difficult to say,” he says, and then adds, “Don’t roll your eyes at me. You know as well as I do that I’m imprecise because I have to be. Because magic, supernatural energy, is imprecise.” He clears his throat. “This place . . . it’s surrounded by, and permeated with, dark energy. Is that causing the storm? I don’t know. It could just be . . .”

“Sally being Sally,” Stiles says dryly. “As well as how many other warlocks she invited to the party. Okay. But let’s say it isn’t natural. I’ve been looking at the weather. Everyone seems taken off guard by this. Okay, meteorology is about as imprecise as magic, but storms like this don’t blow up out of nowhere. Except this one did. So if it is fueled by sorcery, can you stop it?”

Deaton hesitates. Stiles tries not to roll his eyes.

“No,” Deaton finally says. “I could try, yes, and maybe I would succeed. But it’s also possible that any efforts to control the storm would just be adding more power to the mixture, and it could react unpredictably. I think it would be wiser to just let it blow itself out.”

Stiles sighs. “Okay,” he says, “but until it does, there’s no way off this island.”

“On the upside,” Tom adds, “there’s also no way on.”

“True,” Stiles says. “Okay. Let’s go see what the hunters have gotten up to.”

They head back to the lecture room. The wounded have been taken care of and moved. The dead are laid to one side with sheets over them. Most of the Hunter Council is still there, and although a few people don’t seem glad to see Stiles return, Chris nips that in the bud by immediately asking, “What did you find out about the generators?”

“The manager says they have enough to keep essential functions for several days,” Stiles says, “but he doesn’t expect the storm to last that long.” He wishes Sally were here so he could gauge her reaction to that, but she isn’t. Both Stoddard brothers are there, but none of their children. “The kids are okay. More confused than anything else.”

“What are we doing about the ghouls?” Tom asks, putting just enough emphasis on ‘we’ that it makes several noses wrinkle.

“We were just talking about that,” Mikael says. “Odds are that there are still several left.”

“Why?” Stiles asks.

“If you don’t know, then you’re wasting our time,” Stella sneers at him.

Wednesday talks over the second half of her sentence. “Ghouls travel in packs. And they usually send a scouting party of three or four out before the main attack.” She starts pointing to the dismembered ghouls. “One, two, three.”

“How many are left?”

“With three scouts, it’s probably a smaller pack,” Wednesday says, “so my guess would be nine or ten.”

“They must be in the forest, right?” Derek asks, wrapping a hand around Stiles’ forearm as if to try to prevent him from volunteering to go look for them. “There’s no cover anywhere else, and a pack that big could never hide inside a place like the lodge.”

Chris nods. “So we’re going to send out a hunting party. Experienced hunters only.”

“Some of the wolves should go along,” Stiles says. “That’s the whole point of this, right? Demonstrate how the alliance works?”

“We don’t want your help,” Stella says.

Hannah Winchester gives a quiet snort and says, “Then don’t come along, Stella. For my part, I see nothing wrong with bringing along a few werewolves who could survive on the front lines while we take the ghouls from the back. If they’re volunteering to soak up the damage, more power to them.”

“The lady’s got a point,” Wednesday says.

Tom clears his throat. “I think we need to be very clear on something,” he says, and he has that sort of authority to his voice that even the Stoddards and Stella turn to look at him. “This is a war. These ghouls are not here by accident. And I would say that there is at least a sixty percent chance that this is an ambush. For good hunters to get killed. For bad hunters to get killed. I don’t know who might have orchestrated it and I don’t care. Frankly, there are very few people in this room that I would say _aren’t_ capable of that sort of duplicity. So I would like to know why it is necessary to go out into a dark forest, in the middle of a small hurricane, to look for these ghouls. Why don’t we stay here, fortify our perimeter, and wait for their attack? We’re very defensible here.”

“They killed fourteen people,” Mikael says.

“And that is terrible,” Tom agrees. “But we need to think strategically. We can’t be motivated by emotion. You want to go after the ghouls because they hurt your people, and I understand that. But we have to consider the risks of such an action.”

The hunters glance around. “At the least, we could wait for better weather,” Julien says.

“I’m not sure better weather is going to be coming,” Ned Stoddard says, surprising Stiles. “I’ve lived in New England all my life. This storm isn’t . . . typical, let’s put it that way.”

“What are you implying?” Hannah asks sharply.

“Well, we know that there are at least two Druids on this island,” Jim says. “They could be conspiring with . . . someone.” His gaze landed on Stiles and stayed there.

Stiles meets his gaze without flinching. “Actually, there are at least five,” he says, “according to Dr. Deaton and his apprentice, who can sense the magical energy. The ghouls aren’t the only uninvited guests. Although I’m not sure that term applies. Someone invited them. I’m just not sure who.”

“Jesus, that’s three warlocks,” Julien says.

“Give or take a couple,” Jim agrees.

“I sure as hell hope that you’re not implying that the Druidic Council isn’t on our side,” Vanessa remarks. “They serve the exact same purpose that we do. Protecting innocents. And until I see you volunteering to take on the next warlock without hiding behind a Druid’s skirts – ”

“Hiding?” Jim asks, his impressive beard quivering.

“You take that back right now!” Stiles says, in a high-pitched voice that draws everyone’s attention. When they blink at him, he says, “Oh, sorry. I thought that since things were devolving into grade school arguments, I might as well contribute.”

“Jesus, Stiles,” Tom mutters, but Stiles sees him biting back a smile. “Let’s try to focus,” he says, in a more diplomatic tone, while Wednesday delivers a sharp elbow into Stiles’ ribs. “The matter at hand is the ghouls in the forest.”

Chris takes a deep breath. “You have some good points, Tom, but as defensible as this place is, I’m not sure staying here is the better option. Ghouls will be very hard to see in this light and in this weather. They could easily breach even the best defenses and get inside without the others on perimeter even knowing. If nine of them hit two of our guys, they’ll be dead before anyone is the wiser.”

Tom studies him for a moment, then nods. “Okay. If that’s honestly what you think is best, strategically, then let’s do it.”

“So we’ve got . . . nine betas and seven alphas at our disposal?” Hannah says. “We should – ”

Stiles clears his throat. “Excuse me,” he says, “but no, you don’t. For one thing, I’m not volunteering the alpha pack to do anything. If you want them to come along, you’re going to have to ask them. Secondly, not all of my pack members are qualified for something like that. I’m only willing to send my better fighters, which gives you four betas. And that’s if they’re willing to go, because I don’t order them to go into dangerous situations.”

“Some help you are,” Stella says.

“Four is better than none,” Angela Peretti says briskly. Nobody mentions asking the alpha pack to go along. Stiles presumes that none of them are comfortable having a bunch of alpha werewolves at their back during a dangerous situation.

“Anyone bring comms?” Mikael asks.

“I did,” Jim Stoddard says.

“Of course you did,” Chris says. “Okay. Let’s get geared up.”

Stiles has a brief conversation with Allison. He wants her to go, to keep an eye on the others, and she agrees. Then he heads upstairs to talk to the others. He hasn’t seen Justin or any of the alphas since the attack, and he expects that they’re playing least in sight, not wanting to add fuel to a tense situation. The rest of his pack is sitting around in the game room.

He explains the situation and says, “Scott, Erica, Isaac, if you’re willing to go, they could use you.”

“Yeah, as cannon fodder,” Erica says with a snort.

“That seems to be their exact plan, yeah,” Stiles says, “but you guys are tough, and you can handle it. However, don’t bite off more than you can chew. If you get injured, get out. Look out for each other. If things go sideways, run like hell. And if you can, try to protect our hunter allies. I don’t put it past Stoddard to have arranged this entire thing to get Chris and the others somewhere that they can kill them and then blame it on someone or something else.”

“Which Stoddard?” Lydia asks archly. “There are so many to choose from.”

“I hope you don’t think _you’re_ going into ghoul central,” Boyd comments.

Stiles sighs. “No, I didn’t figure you guys would let me. I’m going on a witch hunt instead.”

“Literal or figurative?” Lydia asks.

“Literal. Who wants to come with me to ask Jackson to help track down those other warlocks he thinks are lurking?”

“Will there be lizards?” Danny asks.

“With our luck?” Stiles asks dryly. “Seriously, though, with Jackson and Marzanna backing us up, I think the average sorcerer will think twice before messing with us.”

“I’ll go,” Lydia says, standing up. “Danny?”

Danny sighs. “Okay, fine, but if there’s a lizard you’re going to find me on the ceiling.”

“Fair’s fair,” Stiles says. “Now, I know the hunters weren’t thrilled with the idea of taking any of the alpha pack along, but Derek, you should probably go tell Cora that you’re going to go hunt ghouls with a bunch of pissed off hunters before you actually do it.”

Derek grimaces. “Yeah. Good point.”

“Everyone stay in touch,” Stiles says. “As soon as the hunting party is back, we’ll rendezvous in the main room.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

“It’s not just like throwing a dart and finding a warlock,” Jackson says, sounding grumpy. This is par for the course with Jackson, so Stiles doesn’t let it bother him. “I mean, yeah, we could look, but you’re assuming that none of them are using magic to hide themselves. Or that they haven’t set up defenses to keep us away from them.”

“So, is that a ‘no, I won’t help you look for the warlocks?’” Stiles asks.

Jackson scowls. “I didn’t say that.”

“You pretty much did,” Danny says, rolling his eyes.

“No I didn’t,” Jackson replies. “You want to go find some warlocks, fine, let’s go find some fucking warlocks.” He glances over at Annika, who’s been glaring at them during this conversation. “You game?”

“Only if I get to beat the shit out whoever you find,” Annika says.

“They’re all yours,” Stiles says. Jackson shakes his head, scowls, and starts off down the hallway.

Stiles follows, deep in thought. He can’t quite make this add up. Sally Stoddard. The storm. The ghouls. The sorcerers. The obvious answer was that Sally was isolating them on the island and had brought a few friends to keep everyone on their toes. She clearly didn’t care about casualties. So she wanted to see what Stiles would do.

All of that made sense, but where the hell had the ghouls come from? Ghouls were rare, and they didn’t respond to things like bribery or threats. Where the hell had Sally gotten a pack of ghouls to plant on the island?

“Hey, Jackson,” Stiles says. “Those ghouls were real, right? I mean, they weren’t constructs?”

“Can’t have been,” Jackson says. “They didn’t dissolve when they were killed.”

“Right, right,” Stiles says. So the ghouls weren’t the work of one of the sorcerers. If Sally was really as good at opening Ways, as her father was, transporting them wouldn’t be difficult. But where she had found them and how she was motivating them, that was a different story.

“Okay,” Jackson says quietly. His scowl has gone, and his face is still, calm. “Marzanna says she feels a concentration of dark energy in this wing. Stay behind me.”

Stiles nods. “Lydia, take rear guard,” he says, and she nods, melting back behind them. Stiles and Annika stay right behind Jackson, with Danny and Mac filling in the middle. Stiles can’t feel the darkness himself, and to him, this corridor looks perfectly normal. Wood flooring. Cream walls with scenic pictures. Four wooden doors, two on each side, and then the door to the staircase at the end of the hall. They’re on the fourth floor, the top floor of the lodge. Stiles takes note of the room numbers so he can try to find out whose rooms they are.

“Get down!” Jackson suddenly yells, and Danny leaps forward, taking both Stiles and Annika in a tackle and knocking them to the ground. Stiles can’t tell what’s going on above him; he hears the whistle of wind and some high-pitched shrieking noises. He manages to look up and sees Jackson standing with one hand held up and out in front of himself, parting the flock of birds like the red sea. A quick glance behind him reveals Lydia and Mac huddled together.

Jackson says one sharp, angry word, and there’s a snap of vicious cold. The birds all stop right where they are, rimmed with frost, and drop to the ground. Each of them shatters and then disappears.

“Jesus Christ,” Annika says. “What the fuck was that?”

“A distraction,” Jackson says, and shakes his head. “Yeah, he’s gone. Used the constructs to buy time and got the hell out.”

“How?” Stiles asks. “We would have seen him.”

Jackson turns the knob of one of the room’s doors and looks inside. The window is open, letting in rain and wind. He slams it shut. “Air,” he says.

“What now?” Mac asks.

“He’s a sorcerer who works primarily with air,” Jackson says. “The birds. He can probably fly. Jumped right out and got gone. Could be anywhere on the island or maybe even off it by now, depending on how powerful he is.”

“How powerful is he?” Stiles asks.

Jackson considers. “Powerful,” he finally says. “Most sorcerers, when they do a construct, stick to one at a time. Flocks are hard. And these moved like an actual flock, a hive mind. Yeah, he’s good. But on the upside, that probably took a lot of juice. He’ll be down for the count for a while.”

“Wonder why he hasn’t attacked before now, if he’s that powerful,” Lydia says.

“Maybe he wanted to wait for the ghouls to pick some of us off first,” Annika says.

Jackson shrugs. “I don’t know. Could be a lot of reasons. We don’t know why they’re here. He only acted to defend his territory. The magic felt . . . raw. Like he just flung a handful of it to buy time and get away.”

“Well, we’ll keep an open mind,” Stiles says. “You know, whenever we find the son of a bitch.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

It’s not like werewolves are particularly averse to rain, any more than the average human is. But after ten minutes outside, Derek is really starting to rethink his decision to go along with this little venture. Sure, California gets storms. But he’s never seen weather like this. Every step takes effort, leaning against the wind. He’s drenched within moments of stepping outside. Once they reach the woods, the trees provide some shelter, but they also block a lot of light, and there wasn’t much to begin with.

It really is the perfect place for an ambush, and although he knows that Stiles didn’t set this up, he’s not at all sure about the other hunters. The party consists of about two dozen people of varying levels of skill. Chris, Julien, and Mikael are there, and so are both Stoddards, Stella Jones, and Hannah Winchester. Vanessa decided to sit out. The weather wasn’t good for her arthritis, she told them, and dared anyone to say anything about it.

Sam had agreed to stay behind, mostly because Wednesday had argued about being left out. “I’m perfectly competent,” she had said, with her head held high.

“You’re the mother of an infant,” Chris had reminded her, “and you don’t have the experience necessary for this kind of hunt. Sam’s not coming either,” he had added, and Sam had hastily agreed to this surprise announcement, for the sake of Wednesday’s pride.

Derek suspected that it wasn’t just about Wednesday’s baby. If this _was_ an ambush, set up by the Stoddards or Stella, then Stiles would be left without any allies on the Hunter Council besides Vanessa if this went south. He also suspected that Wednesday would realize that, if she was given enough time.

Allison was hanging close to her father, watching his back, so Derek was able to keep an eye on Scott, Erica, and Isaac, as they ranged out into the forest. Cora trotted along beside him, watching everybody distrustfully. They were all in their full wolf shape – no point in bringing clothes out into the storm and getting them drenched.

Derek feels a little trill of surprise go through Scott and Isaac, who are in front. He’s about to shift back and ask what’s up when he smells it too. Not ghoul. Not human. _Wolf_.

Cora gives a little ‘ruff’ and looks at him questioningly.

“The wolves have something!” Mikael shouts, noticing them first, and then they hear a voice from the forest.

“Come out and pla-ay!” It’s a man, voice rich with amusement. “Hey, Jimmy boy! Come out and plaaaa-ayyyy!”

Now Derek does shift, one hand up to shield his eyes from the rain. He has to shout to make himself heard. “Werewolves!”

Jim Stoddard steps forward, holding a shotgun tight against his shoulder, eyes skimming the trees for a target. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Cora mutters at Derek’s elbow, and he nearly jumps. “What is this, the macho man special?”

Derek doesn’t answer. His unease is growing. There are other werewolves here, and he has no idea who they are or where they came from. This one clearly knows Jim Stoddard. But before Derek can come to any sort of decision, the werewolf jumps down out of a tree and lands squarely on top of the hunter. Jim jerks his shotgun around and even manages to get a shot off, but it doesn’t slow the werewolf down a bit.

“Shift!” Derek shouts. “Human forms, now!”

He doesn’t have time to see if the pack complies. He doesn’t want them fully or even partially shifted, for the same reason that Stiles didn’t want them to help that morning. It would be easy even for a hunter who’s an ally to get confused in this atmosphere. He thinks there are a dozen or more werewolves attacking, and gunshots are already ringing out.

“Derek, down!” Allison’s voice rings out, and Derek doesn’t wait. He flings himself to the ground and hears an arrow whistle over his head bare moments later. There’s a thunk as it hits solid flesh and then laughter from the werewolf it hit. And in that moment, Derek realizes how screwed they are. The hunters were armed for _ghouls_. They hadn’t brought wolfsbane or silver because that’s not what they were hunting. Those bullets took time and money to make, so why waste them on something that didn’t need them? And they could keep shooting – God knows they had the ammo – but the werewolves would just keep getting up.

The thought clearly occurs to Chris at the same moment. “Fall back!” he shouts. “Julien, flank, Allison, cover us!”

“We can take them!” Stella shouts, and at that moment there’s a scream to her right and one of the hunters goes down under a pile of snarling fur. Stella takes aim and starts shooting. The werewolf reels backwards and takes three bullets, but then howls in defiance and leaps forward.

Scott tackles the werewolf from the side and they go down in a heap. Stella keeps shooting, and Scott lets out a howl of pain.

“Son of a _bitch_!” Chris swears. “Hold your – ”

It’s too late for that, because Isaac is already on Stella. He comes in from the side, grabbing her by the wrist and twisting her arm around. The only reason they don’t hear the snap is because of the noise of gunfire from the other people still shooting. Derek runs forward and shoves his way in between Isaac and Stella. He manages to get Isaac free and pushes him to the ground. “Help Scott!” he shouts, and the rage on Isaac’s face melts into understanding.

“That piece of shit!” Stella screams, and then another hunter goes down.

“Fall the fuck back!” Chris shouts again, and this time his orders are obeyed. There are several more minutes of chaos before they manage to get out of the woods and into the meadow. Even then, they keep going, the uninjured helping the wounded, until they’re back inside the lodge. The power is still out, and the main hall is dim.

Stiles is waiting for them, and he obviously knows things went south, because his eyes are shining crimson. “Scott, you’re hurt,” he says, and his voice is very, very calm. Derek winces, because Stiles being calm at a time like this is a terrible thing.

“I’m okay,” Scott wheezes, as Isaac and Erica help him sit down.

Stiles continues to study him as Isaac starts digging the bullets out. “You have been shot,” he observes. “Friendly fire?”

“Not really,” Scott says, wincing.

“He got in my way!” Stella shouts. “And then this animal broke my arm – ”

“Shut up!” Chris shouts back. He takes a deep breath. “Casualties.”

“One dead, one gone, three seriously wounded,” Julien says, and gestures. Mikael is kneeling on the floor, beside one of the younger men. His throat is half torn out, and Mikael is trying to hold it together, to stem the bleeding. Derek sees that it’s his nephew, whom they had met the previous night. Julien looks over and then back at Chris. He gives a little shake of his head.

Cora steps forward. Her eyes are trained on the man’s trembling form, the choked gasps he’s making. “Do you want the bite?” she asks, her voice calm and even.

“Why the _fuck_ would he want that?” Stella asks.

“I am not asking you,” Cora says quietly. She kneels next to the wounded man. “Do you want the bite?” she repeats.

“Any hunter who gets the bite kills themselves afterwards,” Julien says.

“I’m not asking you either,” Cora says. The man’s mouth is moving, but he can’t manage to make a noise. She looks up at Mikael instead.

Derek finds himself holding his breath. He knows that Mikael lost a brother who killed himself after getting bitten. He knows that this nephew is the child of his sister who had died. He can see the love he has for the man on the floor in the way Mikael is trying to hold his throat together.

Mikael leans down as if trying to hear what his nephew is trying to say, and then his jaw squares. “What the hell, he can always kill himself later if he wants,” he says, and nods at Cora. “Do it.”

Cora’s already moving by the time Mikael is halfway through his first sentence. Her fangs sink into the forearm of the wounded man. “We have to keep him alive long enough for it to take,” Scott says, and now he’s on the floor next to the man as well. “He’s going to drown in his own blood like this. Someone get me a straw from the kitchen.”

Erica’s already on her feet, running to grab what Scott needs. Mikael squeezes his nephew’s hand and then lets Scott take over. He hauls himself to his feet, the knees of his pants soaked through with blood. He takes a few quick steps forward, and before anyone else has processed it, he punches Jim Stoddard hard across the face.

“Jesus, Mikael,” Ned says, grabbing his brother before he can end up on the floor. But Mikael doesn’t stop there. He grabs Jim by the front of his shirt and hauls him up.

“You son of a bitch!” Mikael shouts, right in Jim’s face. “First ghouls, now werewolves? What the fuck do you think – ”

Jim slams his head forward, bashing his forehead into Mikael’s nose. Mikael reels backwards, but steadies quickly, grabbing Jim by the ear and wrenching his head around. Julien and Hannah both move to break up the fight, with Ned helping, and they manage to get the two men separated.

“How is this my fault?” Jim snarls at him.

“Come out and play?” Mikael shouts back. “Those werewolves were here for you, now why the fuck is that?”

Stiles leans in to Derek and murmurs, “What happened?”

Derek gives him a very quick summary, and he sees Stiles close his eyes, sees Stiles putting the pieces together. He’s steady now. The rage from Scott’s injury isn’t gone, but it’s subsiding from hot anger into cold fury, the kind that makes Stiles so dangerous.

“So I’ve pissed off a few werewolves in my time, why does that shock you?” Jim asks, sneering.

“How many ghouls have you pissed off?” Stiles asks, and Jim just waves this aside like he doesn’t have time for it. “No, I’d like an answer,” Stiles says, and the other hunters are looking at him now. “Ghouls. Warlocks. And now werewolves.” He lets out a quiet breath. “There’s been a breach in your prison, Mr. Stoddard. You know, the prison that you didn’t want us to see? I have a feeling that we’re about to meet the residents up close and personal.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Papa Stilinski so much <3

 

“That – that’s impossible,” Ned Stoddard says into the silence that follows Stiles’ statement.

“Is it actually?” Chris asks. “Because it seems to me like someone took a bunch of pissed off supernatural creatures and dumped them on this island, telling them that there were going to be hunters here and it was an all-you-can-eat buffet. That werewolf knew Jim. Stands to reason they’ve met before.”

“Can we go back to the part where that thing attacked me and broke my arm?” Stella shouts. The hunter who’s trying to get her arm splinted winces as she shouts right in his ear.

“You were shooting at his packmate,” Mikael says. “You’re lucky he didn’t rip your arm right the hell off!”

“It’s not my fault that animal got in my way!”

“Yes, how dare he try to _protect_ you from the werewolf that was about to tear your face off,” Chris says sarcastically. He looks at Scott and says, “Really, you should have known better.”

“I’ll keep it in mind for the future,” Scott says, not looking up from Mikael’s nephew.

“Stella, your arm is going to be fine, now shut the fuck up,” Vanessa says. All the shouting has attracted attention, and other hunters are coming into the lodge to see what happened. “I think Stiles is right. Someone who had access to your prison got these creatures here, and they’re clearly pretty pissed off about having been incarcerated. So why don’t you call your guys and see if they can tell you exactly who escaped?”

“Fine,” Jim mutters, rubbing his jaw. He pulls out his phone, taps the screen a few times. Frowns. Taps it a few more times. “No signal.”

“Well, Christ, that’s convenient, isn’t it,” Hannah says, sounding disgusted.

“Check your own God damned phone if you don’t believe me,” Jim snaps. “I’ve got no signal.”

Several people do, in fact, pull out their phones. Stiles is one of them. His two bars are now at one. He tries to dial the police station in Beacon Hills, tries to dial Veronica, tries a few more numbers. None of the calls go through. “Great,” he says. “Isolation, step two.”

“Then we’d better get a list of all the occupants of your prison,” Julien says, “so we know who or what we might end up dealing with and can plan accordingly.”

Ned gives a little grimace. “That might not be . . . feasible,” he says reluctantly.

“And why is that?” Chris asks. “When Julien and I went to visit, there were I’d say about . . . two dozen inmates. Surely you can remember two dozen monsters.”

Jim clears his throat. “It’s more than that.”

“How many more?” Cora asks, her voice tight.

“Probably about . . . two hundred,” Ned says.

“Jesus Christ on a stripper pole,” Stiles says. “Two hundred? That’s even worse than I imagined, and let me tell you, I’ve got a pretty vivid imagination.”

“There’s no way that they’re all here,” Jim says.

“No, they aren’t,” Stiles says. He sees Sally in the crowd, sees the coy little smile on her face. “Only the ones who want revenge. Whoever let them out either only took those people he or she felt were . . . properly motivated, or, he or she emptied the whole damn thing but most people headed for the hills. We’ve got no way of knowing which. On the upside, the people who want revenge are likely to be the ones you’ve pissed off the worst, so they might be the most memorable. So let’s start there.”

“Who was the werewolf in the woods?” Mikael asks, his voice tight and angry.

Jim glowers silently for a minute, then says, “Kaleb Coleman. I captured him and his whole pack about eight months ago. Nearly a dozen. And don’t feel sorry for them. That asshole had a long rapsheet. He was bad long before I ever put him in jail.”

“We’ll have to take your word on it,” Stiles says, “since I conveniently can’t call any of my contacts.”

Jim ignores him. “The ghouls have been there a couple years. They’re tough bastards. We were trying to test the limits of their . . . endurance.”

“What about the sorcerers?”

Jim shrugs. “I don’t remember any of them particularly well.”

That’s fairly obviously a bald-faced lie, but Stiles decides to tackle it later. “How many people had access to your prison?”

“A dozen, maybe,” Jim says. “Most of them are still there. Presumably. I mean, they aren’t attending the Conclave.”

Stiles nods, thinking things over. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s do this, providing you’re all willing. Scott, you and Deaton will coordinate medical care for the wounded. Dad, you’re the best cop I know. Sit down with Mr. Stoddard here and pick his brain about the prison, the way it was set up, who might have had access.” He’s sure it was Sally who had gotten the prisoners out, but they’re going to have to prove that, and he can’t do that without more information. “Chris, Mikael, will you handle fortifying the lodge? From now on, no one comes in or out. And we’re going to need a strong perimeter guard. We don’t know who all is out there.”

“What do we do about the staff?” Wednesday asks. “We’ve got fucking bodies piling up. They’re gonna notice.”

“We’ll keep all the bodies in the same room, and tell them not to go in,” Jim says. “That’ll keep them from finding out, at least for now.”

Tom clears his throat. “It doesn’t take long for a dead body to start to smell,” he says, “and we can’t exactly put them on ice.”

“If you have a better suggestion,” Jim says, impatient, and Tom sighs.

“Actually, we _can_ put them on ice, I think,” Scott says. “I mean, Jackson does all that ice and cold magic. Maybe he can turn a room into a freezer for us. I’ll talk to him; I think he’s with Dr. Deaton.”

“Good idea,” Chris says. “Mikael, would you rather stay with your nephew until the bite takes?” he asks.

Mikael stands up and shakes his head. “I’d rather keep busy.”

“I’ll send someone to get you if his condition changes,” Scott says.

Mikael nods. “I appreciate it,” he says, and then adds, “And thank you. For helping him.” He looks at Cora and says, “Thank you, too.”

“Yeah,” Cora says, and then looks surprised when Mikael embraces her. It’s the most awkward hug that Stiles has ever seen, but he’s not going to argue. Progress is progress. Cora pats Mikael on the back and then weasels out of his embrace.

“Come on,” Stiles says, “let’s go check on the others. Isaac, Erica, I want you to stay with Scott. Just in case anything . . . happens.” He gives Stella a significant, and wholly unnecessary, look. She scowls back at him. Erica gives her a sharp-toothed grin, and she turns on her heel and storms off.

“What are we going to do?” Derek asks, as Stiles heads up the stairs.

“We’re going to go have a chat with Sally,” Stiles says. He’s got his phone out and is tapping the screen.

It’s easier said than done. It takes almost an hour just to find Sally, who isn’t in her room or any of the public rooms. It seems unlikely that she would be outside. They finally track her down in one of the upstairs hallways, sitting in one of the bay windows overlooking the back deck and the ocean. Her lips curve in a smile when she sees them. “Hey, Stiles,” she says.

“Hey, Sally,” he replies. “Wanna tell us how many monsters you brought here to kill us?”

Sally blinks at him guilelessly. “Huh?”

“You know, your uncle’s prison?” Stiles says. “The one that you took over, opened a door from, and funneled a bunch of people and/or monsters out of?”

Sally just continues to smile at him. “Is _that_ where the ghouls came from? Uncle Jim’s prison?”

“You would know,” Stiles says. It’s obvious that she knows he’s recording the conversation, but if he can keep her talking, she might give something away.

“Ugh, no,” Sally says, with a theatrical shudder. “I haven’t been there in years. It’s such an awful place. I don’t like to go there, so I asked Daddy to stop making me.”

“And Daddy’s little girl gets whatever she wants, huh?” Stiles says.

“I am definitely Daddy’s little girl,” Sally says, grinning at him. Then she snaps her fingers. Stiles jumps as he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He grabs it and sees a blank screen. He presses the power button, but nothing happens.

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters, and glances at Derek, who gives a quick shake of his head to indicate that his phone is dead, too.

“So do you wanna know?” Sally asks.

Stiles sighs. “Yeah, Sally, I want to know.”

“Do you _really_ wanna know?”

It takes effort, but Stiles doesn’t try to throttle her. “Yes. I really want to know.”

“Thirteen ghouls, eleven werewolves, two warlocks, and – ooh. A _special_ surprise. I can’t give that away ahead of time.”

“Son of a bitch,” Stiles says again.

“Nope,” Sally says cheerfully. “Daughter of a bastard. Oh, and to spice things up, all the attendees have been assigned point values! Hunters are worth ten points, beta werewolves are worth twenty. Any member of the Hunter Council is fifty points, and so is any alpha werewolf. And you, Stiles, are worth a whopping one hundred points! So I’d be careful if I were you. The ghouls are winning, of course, though Kaleb’s pack made up some of the difference today. Dante hasn’t even made his first move yet, and trust me, it’ll be a doozy. And there’s still six days left! Anything could happen!”

Stiles considers her for a long minute and then says, “How about your dad? How many points is he worth?”

“Oh, he’s fifty points as well,” Sally says, her tone matter-of-fact. “He might not be on the Hunter Council, but he’s _very_ good at what he does. I assigned a few hunters extra points for that reason. Lord knows that not everybody on the Council is worth fifty, like Stella Jones and that marshmallow of an Argent that’s in charge of Henry’s old territory. But it was too complicated to do individual point values for _everyone_.”

“What’s the prize?” Stiles asks. “I mean, what does the winner get?”

“My unending admiration,” Sally says, and then gives a peal of laughter. “And an all-expenses paid trip to the fifth circle of Hell. They don’t know that yet, though.”

“Jesus, Sally,” Stiles says. “You’re the actual worst.”

This doesn’t faze Sally a bit. “Good luck in the games, Stiles!” she says, waving at him and he turns to walk away.

“I hate her _so much_ ,” Stiles mutters, twining his fingers through Derek’s as they head back to their rooms.

It’s too crowded to fit everyone in there, so Stiles tells both his pack, the alpha pack, and Jackson to meet in the game room in ten minutes. Then he goes to check in with Chris, who says things are well underway. Scott is still with Mikael’s nephew, who’s doing better and breathing without help. Scott wants to stay with him, so Stiles leaves him to it. He still doesn’t want Scott left alone after what happened, so Isaac and Erica stick with him. The bodies have all been kept in the conference room, which is now about thirty degrees. Jackson says he can’t keep it that way indefinitely, but it’ll buy them some time.

He’d like to have Wednesday and Sam at the meeting, but they’re busy with their hunters. Sketch shows up, though, so at least he can carry news back to Wednesday.

“So, wait,” Justin says, halfway into Stiles’ explanation. “If there’s a band of werewolves in the forest, why don’t you let us go take care of them? Seven alphas versus eleven betas – those are odds I’d take on any day. And have. Repeatedly.”

“Yeah, how’s it sound once you add ten ghouls, two sorcerers, and the Sally Stoddard Special?” Stiles asks. “Not to even mention that if you win, and head back towards the lodge covered in blood, forty different hunters will try to shoot you in the face. I’d much prefer we all stay here, warm and dry and un-shot.”

“Good point,” Yasmin says, nudging Justin in the ribs.

“And that’s assuming that the eleven werewolves are betas,” Derek adds. “All Sally said was eleven werewolves. Odds are good that there’s an alpha or two in the mix somewhere.”

“It is possible for an alpha to hide their presence, even from us,” Ravinder agrees. “More to the point, Sally said this man’s name was Kaleb, did she not? I believe I know to whom she was referring. An alpha we tested some years back – before your time,” he adds to Justin. “He passed the trials under Trevor’s tenure. An unlikeable individual. We had no qualms about how he treated his pack, but it would not surprise me to hear that he had been abusing his power.”

“Great.” Allison huffs out a sigh. “It’s totally possible that there was an alpha out there today. It was really chaotic. Would’ve been easy to miss.”

“I don’t suppose you know how many pack members Kaleb had,” Stiles says to Ravinder. He shakes his head. “Eleven would be a medium sized pack, for a strong alpha. But that’s assuming that all his ‘wolves survived their imprisonment, and that seems pretty unlikely. It’s possible that some of these werewolves Sally brought along aren’t affiliated with him. So yeah, at the moment I’m going to have to vote for staying here.”

“Okay, but what’s our long-term game plan?” Justin asks. “Because I don’t really dig ‘sit around and wait for other people to deal with it’.”

“Well, it’s not exactly my idea of a tea party either,” Stiles says. “We’ll see what my dad can find out about our unexpected guests. But there’s somebody else I want some information from. My guess is that there are a few people who knew these people were coming, who are waiting with baited breath to use this as an excuse to shut down the whole ‘not all werewolves’ thing.”

“Like Stella Jones?” Derek asks, scowling.

Stiles’ eyes momentarily flash crimson, but he shuts it down fast. “Yeah. She’s been right on us demanding to know why we aren’t saving their asses at every opportunity. Agnes St. James is another. She’s here, but we’ve barely seen her, which is unusual for her. She’s up to something. And the Gutierrez family. Five bucks says they’re involved somehow.”

Cora’s scowl now matches Derek’s, in a manner that would be cute under other circumstances. “What are we going to do about it?”

“And what about the Stoddards?” Lydia asks. “How much do you think they know?”

“Ned seemed genuinely surprised at the idea that their prison had a breech,” Stiles says. “Jim, I’m not as sure about. But I’ll let my dad handle him. As for the others . . .” He huffs out a breath. “Damn it, I wish Ian was here. He makes a great spy. I guess I can’t blame him for not wanting to visit an island full of hunters, but it would be damned useful to have him around.”

Derek grimaces, hand rubbing idly at the back of Stiles’ neck. “We need someone who can talk to them on our behalf, who can pretend to be their ally.”

“I’ll do it,” a voice says, and Stiles’ head twists around to see Annika standing in the door.

“Shit, how long have you been there?” he asks, thinking about everything he’s said about Sally Stoddard in the previous twenty minutes.

“Since the beginning, asshole,” Annika says. “You need someone who can pretend to be on their side? I’m your woman. Everyone saw us fighting at the last Conclave, and it’d be easy for me to say that I think Jonas’ ‘death’ was your fault.”

“Yeah, about that . . .”

Annika’s expression doesn’t change. “I know why you didn’t tell me,” she says. “I know Dad probably asked you not to. He’s been terrified he’ll lose me, ever since he got hurt. But he can’t keep me in a glass jar. I won’t go try to bust Sally’s skull in. But if the goal is to kill her, I’m on board. So let me help.”

Stiles nods. “Okay. Jonas’ death is my fault. I humiliated him at the Conclave, he started fighting with his dad, tried to have him killed, and when he got caught . . .”

Annika nods. “And Stella knows. She knew all along.”

“I never figured out how,” Stiles admits. Stella had made a comment or two that implied she had known about Jonas’ involvement.

“She was pretty tight with Ariah Nazario,” Annika says. “They probably talked about it. The guy who took the shot was one of Stella’s guys, after all. I bet he came at her recommendation. Anyway, I can start with Stella. See what I can find out.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. He almost says ‘be careful’ but then decides that Annika would probably punch him in the face if he said that. If she can get Stella on board, she can probably talk to Anges, too. The Gutierrez family are going to be a harder nut to crack. He’ll have to deal with that as it comes.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Tom Stilinski has dealt with a lot of unhelpful witnesses in his time on the police force. He’s dealt with people who are too traumatized to talk about what happened to them. He’s talked to smug bastards who are sure they got away with their crime. He’s handled people who just hate the police on general principle. And he’s worked with people who feel like whatever’s happening is a complete waste of their time.

Jim Stoddard is one of the fourth variety, almost definitely. One hand taps at the table incessantly, and he occasionally pauses to heave a sigh like he can’t quite believe this is happening to him. Tom is thinking about how to handle this, because the answer _probably_ isn’t to say ‘if you roll your eyes at me one more time, I’ll roll your head across the room’.

He decides to come at him head on. “So. Why did you bring a bunch of monsters to the Conclave?”

That gets Jim to blink. Then he scoffs. “You think I brought these guys here?”

“Well, I certainly think you’re the most likely,” Tom says. “You had motive, means, and opportunity, which puts you far past most of the other people I could name. Stella Jones, Agnes St. James, they might have wanted to ruin the party, but they aren’t the one whose prison supplied the guests, now, are they.”

“Look, I’ll be frank with you, Mr. Stilinski – ”

“Sheriff Stilinski.”

Jim waves this correction aside. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about this Conclave. A bunch of bleeding hearts are going to get together and weep and moan over the ‘good’ werewolves that they want to protect. They can make whatever decisions they want. I don’t care what other people do on their territory, as long as they don’t tell me what to do on mine.”

Tom keeps a blank face and an even voice. “But that’s the point we’re coming to, isn’t it?” he says. “The point where people are going to start making you justify your actions and demand accountability.”

“They can demand whatever they want. That doesn’t mean I have to comply.”

Tom sits back in his chair. “I see. You think I’m an idiot.”

Jim frowns. “I don’t – ”

“No, apparently you don’t,” Tom says. “You think I have no idea how hunting works. You think that I’m completely oblivious to the fact that you depend on your backers. That your day job of a security company is intrinsically linked to your hunting enterprises. You think that I can be convinced you’re invincible, just because you talk a good game.”

Jim’s mouth tightens into a thin line.

“Here’s what I know, Mr. Stoddard. There are eleven members of the Hunter Council, and six of them are quite firmly in Chris Argent’s camp. Angela Peretti and Hannah Winchester keep abstaining, but if they’re forced to give an opinion, they won’t swing your way. Peretti is known to work with werewolves, and Winchester is fine with the fact that there are dozens of born wolf families living on the plains under the ‘you don’t bother me, I won’t bother you’ philosophy. Which leaves you with Jones and St. James. Not much of a showing.

“So what, you say. They can do whatever they want as long as they don’t force you to agree. And yet, here you sit, at the Conclave _you_ are hosting, forced to have accepted all these extra invitees. I know that you didn’t want my son here, let alone the Alpha Pack. But the others forced you to allow it. You’re not immune to pressure. You’d like me to believe that nobody will hold you accountable for anything, but that isn’t true. These guys all talk to each other. They talk to their backers. Their backers talk to each other. Chris works in the same field you do, and so does Julien. They could choke off your business if they wanted. So if you’re quite done trying to convince me of how special you are, how about you answer a few of my questions?”

Jim’s been trying to stare Tom down during this monologue. It hasn’t worked. He breaks first, his gaze flicking to the side. Then he shoves back from the table and folds his arms over his chest. “What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with the location of your prison.”

“That’s need-to-know only.”

“And here I thought we had made some progress,” Tom says. “Do you think the distance to your prison is irrelevant? If we’re going to figure out who’s here, it might be helpful to figure out how they _got_ here. Did they get on a Greyhound? Take a plane? Could they have walked?”

“It’s three hundred miles from here,” Jim snaps. “Nobody walked.”

“Okay. Could they have flown?”

“How should I know?”

Tom prays for patience and says, as if talking to a child, “Is there an airfield there?”

“Yes.”

“Is there one anywhere near here?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

Tom studies him for a minute. “Werewolves and warlocks could have gotten here by car or bus, but a group of ghouls would have been noticed. If they would even fit in a car, which I doubt. That means magic is the most likely option, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.”

“So let’s start with the people who had access to your prison who also have the capability to do magic,” Tom says.

Jim scoffs. “There aren’t any.”

Tom’s eyebrows go up. “Really.”

“I don’t like magic-users,” Jim says. “They can’t be trusted. They’re basically supernatural creatures themselves. Sure, they’ve got more human in them than most, but they aren’t wholly human and nobody can convince me otherwise. I use them on occasion, if I’m fighting a warlock and it can’t be helped, but for day to day work, I don’t employ them.”

“Are you telling me that your prison had no magical protections on it?”

“It does. They were put on by a Druid back when it was first built. That was done by my mother, and the Druid in question has been dead thirty years.”

“That doesn’t need to be renewed periodically?”

Jim shrugs. “Not the way he did it.”

Tom studies him for a minute before deciding to let it go. He’s not sure enough of how magic works to challenge him on that point, and he doesn’t want Jim to decide he’s an idiot again. “Okay. Then let’s move on to the other people who had access.”

Jim clearly thinks this is a waste of time, but at least he cooperates, listing off the people who worked at the prison on a regular basis, who was responsible for transporting prisoners, who worked security. Tom asks some follow up questions about these people, about whether or not any of them had reason to want the Conclave to fail, how much money they made, where they lived, who their families were.

“That’s it?” he asks, after they’ve gone through eight different people.

“That’s it.”

“What about your family?”

“What about them?”

“Well, I assume that you and Ned had regular access,” Tom says. “What about your wife?”

“She’s not involved in hunting.”

“Okay. Your sister?”

“She isn’t either. She’s not even here.”

“Mm hm. What about your kids?”

Jim scoffs. “None of them are old enough to have orchestrated anything like that.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Tom says. “I saw your two kids at dinner last night. They’re what, fifteen, sixteen? Stiles was old enough to get into plenty of trouble by then. And then there’s your niece.”

“Who, Sally?” Jim actually laughs. “Yeah, sure. Ned had to bribe her with a new iPhone just to get her to this damned thing. Look, she’s a sweet girl, but she’s a complete airhead. She went to the prison twice, maybe, back when Ned was still trying to get her to give a damn, and then refused to go back because it was, and I quote, ‘creepy’.”

“But she has been there,” Tom says.

Jim shrugs. “Yeah. So what?”

“Probably nothing.” Tom stretches a little. “Let’s talk about the inmates.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	5. Chapter 5

 

By dinner, the rain has slackened off some, although the wind and surf are still quite high. Stiles has no doubt that this is just a temporary lull. Sally has to rest sometime, he supposes, and he knows that warlocks are more powerful at night. The staff is cheerful and seems to think that the storm will probably be over by the next day.

They serve several different kinds of lasagna for dinner, and the food is just as good as it was the day before. Stiles is glad that the kitchen still has power, although he can’t help but wonder how long the generators will last. There’s no point in worrying about it yet.

The dining room has plenty of windows, so some dim light filters in through them, plus there are plenty of candles. Stiles sits in a corner with his pack, his father, Deaton, and a few of the other hunters. Most of the adults are on patrol, but Mikael is there because his nephew is too, shaky and pale but healing. Wednesday and Sketch are joining them as well, because Wednesday offered to take a night shift. The werewolves weren’t asked to take turns on patrol, and Stiles didn’t volunteer them.

Annika doesn’t join them, because she can’t be seen with them now, but sends a message through Jackson that things with Stella went okay and she’s laid some groundwork. Stiles approves. He knows that going too fast will only give Annika’s motives away.

“So did Stoddard say anything useful?” he asks his father.

Tom, who looks like he has an enormous headache, says, “It was like pulling teeth, but yes. We basically confirmed that it must have taken magic to get them here, and nobody who works at the prison on a regular basis does magic. That won’t help prove Sally’s guilt, though. He’ll just say that one of the two warlocks who escaped must have done it.”

“True. How many of those guys knew where the Conclave was going to be?”

“Pretty much everyone. It wasn’t a secret.” Tom sighs as Stiles nudges his salad bowl towards him. “He said that as far as he knows, Kaleb’s pack had fifteen people in it, and he’s ‘pretty sure’ that a few of them have died in the interim. So it’s likely that a couple of the werewolves here aren’t part of that pack.”

“What about the warlocks?” Deaton asks.

“Well, after some extensive needling, I think I’ve figured out who we’re after,” Tom says. “Sally mentioned a guy named Dante, and that’s the first one that Jim admitted to. Dante DeLuca.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Deaton says, nodding. “He’s a bad egg all around.”

“Well, according to Stoddard, that ‘bad egg’ made the mistake of trying to harness one of the ley lines in the White Mountains, for God knows what, and wound up with his ass in their prison. He’s been there about six months. Now, the second one, he kept claiming he couldn’t think of who it might be, until I mentioned what you guys ran into earlier today, with the birds.” Tom picks up his glass of water. “Then he suddenly recalled that yes, there was a warlock who used mostly air magic and was fond of avian constructs that they captured. It was a while ago, he said, so it wasn’t as fresh in his memory. That’s a guy named Blaine something. Acklin, I think he said.”

“I haven’t heard of him,” Deaton says.

“From what Stoddard said, I don’t know that you would have come across him. He seemed pretty young from the description, maybe in his early twenties. Got into black magic as a way of revenge on people he felt had slighted him.”

“He must love Stoddard, then,” Derek says, and Tom sighs and nods.

“Any idea on the Sally Stoddard special?” Stiles asks.

“Not sure. I did ask about more rare creatures. He said that there was a water elemental there, and that might be what’s causing the bad weather. Plus he mentioned a manticore and a bogle. But he didn’t think either of them were likely to come here.”

“Any creature from faerie would head straight back there,” Deaton says, “and manticores are basically animals. So I agree.” He puts down his fork and stands. “I’m going to see if there’s anything I can do to nullify the storm. If it’s a water elemental, rather than Sally, I might be able to communicate with it.”

“Sounds good to me,” Stiles says. “Need any help?”

“I’ll be all right, thank you,” Deaton says. “Just need some peace and quiet.”

They finish eating and then adjourn to their rooms. Without electricity, their options are limited. Stiles is already envisioning the panic everyone is going to have when their cell phones start to die – not that they’re good for much without a network. They grab a few of the games from the basement and bring them upstairs, and waste time playing Clue and Sorry.

Everyone ends up turning in early. It was a long day, and the next will probably be longer. Stiles curls up bed with Derek on one side and Isaac and Lydia on the other.

He wakes up to an enormous rumble of thunder, so loud that he shouts and flails his way out of bed. Derek, who was sleeping in his human form, sits up and catches him before he can actually fall on his face. “Just thunder,” he says.

Stiles groans as it continues to rumble through the room. “So close,” he says. “Sounded like part of the building fell off or something.”

“Yeah.” Derek rubs at his back. They sit there for a minute in silence as rain begins to hammer at their windows. “Guess Deaton didn’t have any luck with the water elemental.”

“If that’s even what’s causing this,” Stiles agrees. Their windows are rattling from the force of the gusts of wind. “Guess I’ll try to get some more sleep.”

It doesn’t come easily. He thinks twice about getting up, but since he isn’t at home and can’t resort to any of his staple distractions, like baking or watching TV, he decides against it. Finally, he falls back into a restless doze. He’s somewhat surly when the alarm goes off the next morning. That’s one good thing about the old-fashioned hotel – there are manual clocks, so they’ll still know the time after their phones die. The doors lock manually as well. They’d be in more trouble if they had electronic keycards for their rooms.

“Why’d you set it so early?” Isaac moans. He’s never been a morning person.

“I want to check in with the night shift,” Stiles says. He’s just crawled out of bed and is looking for some clothes when there’s a scream that rings through the entire hotel. It’s the kind of full-throated, hysterical scream that comes from somebody who’s never seen a dead body before. It’s quickly followed by pounding feet. Stiles, who’s one leg into his pants, nearly falls over before bolting into the hallway.

The screaming hasn’t stopped, so it’s easy to follow it to its source. There’s a young woman in a hotel outfit standing in the lodge’s main room, screaming her lungs out over a dead body. A dismembered body, to be precise. There’s blood everywhere. People are leaning over the balcony railing to see what’s going on, and the stairs are getting crowded. Derek grabs Stiles in a quick reverse piggy back and then jumps over the railing, landing a few feet away from the woman. She sees them and stumbles backwards, holding her hands up in surrender.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Derek says, letting Stiles down. “It’s okay, we won’t hurt you. You’re safe, we won’t hurt you.”

Other people are flooding in. Stiles takes a step back so he’s not standing in a pool of blood and realizes that it’s not just one body. It’s at least two, possibly more. “The fuck,” he breathes out, trying to figure out who it was. He sees at least one head, but the face is unfamiliar. “The fuuuuuuuck.”

“Jesus Christ!” Chris Argent has seen his fair share of bloodshed, but even he bites out a startled curse when he sees the carnage.

There’s screaming from another part of the hotel. Everyone’s head whips around.

Chris’ moment of hesitation is too long, and Tom takes over. “Allison, Lydia, find the manager, gather the staff and keep them in one place. Scott, Isaac, go see what the other person screaming about, it’s probably more bodies. Chris, do you know who these people are?”

“At least one of them is one of Julien’s guys, but I’m not sure of the other – ”

Stiles is about to say something when he hears someone shouting his name and there’s a flash of red hair in the crowd. Sketch elbows his way through it and grabs Stiles by the shoulder. “I can’t find Lucy! I – I can’t – she was on patrol last night and this whole place is full of bodies and I can’t – ”

“Shit,” Stiles says, going pale. Derek has handed the sobbing employee off to Erica and Mac. “You can’t sniff her out?”

“Fuckin’ everything just smells like blood – ”

Stiles looks at his father, who nods. “Go. Chris and I will take care of this and reconnoiter.”

“Do you know where she was?” Stiles asks Sketch.

“Yeah, yeah, I sat with her for a while at her post but then she told me to go get some sleep – ” Sketch is already jogging through the foyer with Stiles and Derek on his heels. He heads back up the stairs and onto the second floor, then down one of the side hallways. “She was here, she – ” Sketch points to a padded bench.

There’s no blood, any more than Stiles can smell in every direction. But the doorway to their right has been broken down. He heads inside and finds a room that’s been turned into a shambles. It’s one of the lodge’s most posh suites, and it doesn’t seem like it was occupied. There’s no luggage and the bed is mostly made, although knocked askew.

The windows are intact, so whatever happened to Wednesday, it probably happened in this room. There are a few splashes of blood on the walls. Stiles touches it gently, and it’s damp but not warm. Then there’s a bloody handprint by the door. Someone had staggered away, and grabbed the wall for support. Stiles puts his hand up against it, carefully not touching it, and finds that it’s close to his in size. Much too large to be Wednesday’s.

He feels his stomach start to churn, because it looks to him like Wednesday was chased into this room and fought off her attacker, yet she’s nowhere to be seen. If she had been badly injured, why wouldn’t she have cried out for help? For that matter, why hadn’t _any_ of the people being attacked made enough noise to wake someone?

Stiles does a quick search, moving pieces of furniture and shoving things around, but he doesn’t see anything. He’s about to say that he thinks she must have left when Derek grabs his wrist. “I hear a heartbeat,” he says, and cautiously heads further into the room. He stops in the corner and says, “It’s . . . behind the wall. What’s this panel here?”

“Oh shit! That’s a dumbwaiter, I bet,” Stiles says. There aren’t any in their rooms, but he bets the really expensive suites have them. “Jesus, could Wednesday fit in there?”

“I bet she could if she was properly motivated,” Derek says. He grabs the door’s tiny handle and looks at Stiles.

Stiles pulls out his .38 on the ‘better safe than sorry’ principle and holds it ready. Then he gives Derek a nod. He tugs the door open and Wednesday practically spills out of the tiny box. Sketch lets out a yelp and runs forward, tugging her free. She’s pale but conscious. Her hair has mostly come out of its braid, and there are smears of blood across her cheeks. Her shirt is soaked with it.

“Jesus,” Stiles says, as Sketch gets her lying down. He wishes his father hadn’t sent Scott off.

“I’m okay,” Wednesday says, her voice thin and reedy. “It’s not mine. Can’t move my arm, though. Think my shoulder’s dislocated.”

“Must have hurt like a bitch to cram yourself in there,” Stiles says, and she nods. They’ve all had some basic first aid, so he carefully takes her arm and rotates it gently. She lets out a string of swears that would make Erica proud. “Yeah, dislocated for sure. Hold still, this is gonna hurt like a bitch.”

Wednesday nods and grits her teeth. Stiles shoves her shoulder back into place and she spits out more profanities. But then she opens and closes her fist and gives him a nod of thanks.

“What happened?” Sketch asks, his voice still a little high-pitched from panic. “Was it the ghouls? How did they get inside?”

Wednesday is already shaking her head. “No. It was Kyle Nazario.”

Everyone blinks at her. “Another hunter attacked you?”

“Yeah. That’s why I hid. He had a fucking axe. I could’ve killed him, maybe, but I – ” Wednesday grimaces. “He didn’t know who I was. Pretty sure he’d been mind-whammied by one of the warlocks.”

“Jesus. We’d better get downstairs.” Stiles will feel better once she’s been checked for injuries anyway. He and Sketch help her to her feet. Her ankle is twisted as well, but she accepts their help with her usual practicality.

“When he came at me, I went through the door and slammed it after me,” Wednesday tells them. “I’d opened it earlier, so I would have more room to fight if I needed it. It was locked, but an easy pick. He broke it down after me. I thought I was going to have to kill him. Maybe I did. I know I got him with my knife a few times. But then I saw the door for the dumbwaiter. I got in a good kick to the gut and crammed myself inside. He left a few minutes later. I would’ve let myself out, but because I couldn’t move my arm, I couldn’t get the door open.”

“How long ago was that?” Derek asks.

“Not sure. Maybe an hour.”

“Jesus, he could still be out there axe-murdering people,” Sketch says.

Stiles doubts it. He’s willing to bet that whatever magic the warlock had used, it had only been good until sunrise. That would explain why Kyle had left Wednesday where she was instead of continuing to try to get to her. The magic must have kept anyone from hearing the commotion, too; a hunter breaking down a door with an axe would have made a lot of noise.

When they get downstairs, the news is grim. They’ve found seventeen bodies throughout the resort. “Jesus Christ,” Stiles says. Between that and the fourteen who had died in the ghoul attack, almost a third of the hunters that had come to the Conclave were already dead. Besides Wednesday, there are three more injured. Two men and a woman, sitting in stunned silence, all of them coated with blood.

Wednesday gives a hiss and her fingers suddenly dig into Stiles’ arm. “That’s Kyle,” she says, tilting her chin towards one of those men.

Stiles nods slowly and gets Wednesday sitting down. He gestures for Scott to come take a look at her. “Have you seen Dr. Deaton this morning?” he asks, and Scott shakes his head. Stiles frowns. He’ll have to deal with that in a few minutes.

“I just don’t understand what happened,” Angela Peretti is saying to Vanessa in a distressed tone of voice. “There’s no sign of forced entry at any of the doors. And these wounds – they aren’t the sort made by ghouls or even werewolves, this is like . . .”

“Like someone attacked them with an axe,” Stiles says. Angela looks up, startled, but then nods. “Yeah, that’s what happened. There were probably at least two fire axes in this hotel, plus maybe one for cutting firewood. Or maybe some of the hunters brought their own axes, who knows?”

“What are you implying?” Vanessa asks, frowning.

“Nothing bad about good men,” Stiles says. “I think it’s clear that sorcery was involved. That’s the only reason we wouldn’t have heard the commotion.” He takes a deep breath. “Lucy?” he adds, using her real name to avoid confusion.

Wednesday nods and hobbles to her feet. “Vanessa, Kyle attacked me.” Her voice is blunt as ever, although it’s not unkind. “I managed to fight him off and then I hid, because I didn’t want to kill him if I didn’t have to. He didn’t seem to recognize me.”

Vanessa swallows hard and closes her eyes for a minute. Then she goes to sit beside the young man. Stiles can’t remember how he’s related to her, if he’s a grandson or a grand-nephew. He’s soaked with blood, arms folded over his stomach, rocking himself back and forth slightly. “Kyle,” she says, her voice steady and calm. “Can you tell me what happened last night?”

Kyle looks at her with eyes so wide that the whites are visible all the way around. “Ghouls,” he whispers. “They got inside. They were everywhere . . .”

Vanessa looks questioningly at Chris, who had been coordinating the search. He shakes his head. “We didn’t find any ghouls anywhere,” he says. Nobody bothers to point out that the blood that the three hunters are soaked with is red, human blood. Nobody needs to.

“Okay, son,” Vanessa says, and squeezes his arm. “You did a good job fighting off those ghouls, you hear me? Good job. We’re gonna get you patched up now.”

She stands and faces the other hunters. “If anyone tries to hold my grandson responsible – ”

“No, Vanessa, we understand,” Mikael says. “We know it wasn’t his fault.”

“Should we tell them?” Derek murmurs, watching Scott and some of the other hunters with medical training move in to help.

“Absolutely not,” Vanessa says, glowering. But then she seems to realize that Derek is only trying to figure out what the best course of action would be. “No. To tell them what they did, it might – it would break them. And they’ll never remember it, even if we could show them a video. To them, they fought off a bunch of ghouls trying to kill them. The only thing telling them the truth would accomplish would be to hurt them.”

Chris is nodding in agreement. He looks between Stiles and Tom and says, “This must be that sorcerer Dante DeLuca, right? Seems like his style, from what Jim said about him.”

“That’d be my guess, yeah,” Stiles says. “Probably picked a few hunters who either didn’t have good enough protection spells, or that he could manage to pick a hair off of.”

“Then let’s hunt the son of a bitch down,” Hannah says.

“Hang on,” Tom says. “I’m all for that, but in terms of priorities, the first is getting the civilians to safety. The kids and the wounded, too.”

“The bridge isn’t safe,” Jim Stoddard says. He’s been watching this from the side of the room and not contributing, probably to avoid drawing attention to himself. Indeed, as soon as he speaks, several people scowl in his direction.

“We’ll have to chance it,” Tom says, staying calm in the face of the rising hostilities. “The wind isn’t too bad at the moment.”

“We can’t just send them back to the mainland,” Jim says. “Can you imagine the unholy fuss they’ll kick up? We’ll have news crews, cameras – ”

“Jesus Christ,” Julien says. “We can send a few people with them to make sure they don’t talk if that’s such a huge concern to you, but Tom is right. We need to get them off this island before anything else happens.”

“I just think that there could be better ways to handle this. I mean, for one thing, we don’t know how to run this place, we still have to eat – ”

“Could you stop being such a colossal dick for five minutes?” Vanessa snaps at him. “People are dying in droves, and you’re concerned about who’s going to make you a sandwich?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Derek leans in to Stiles, nudging him with his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He’s staring at Jim with narrowed eyes. “What don’t you want us to know?”

Jim’s mouth tightens into a grimace. “I refuse to be interrogated by – ”

“By what?” Stiles asks, his eyes flaring crimson. “Go ahead. Finish that sentence. I _dare_ you, Stoddard.”

Derek squeezes Stiles’ shoulder but directs his comments to Jim Stoddard. “Your heartbeat skyrocketed the minute that Tom brought up sending people back to the mainland. You’re hiding something, and I think we’d all like to know what.”

After a few moments to sulk, Jim heaves an irritated sigh. “The bridge is out.”

There’s a round of confused blinks before Chris says, “What do you mean ‘out’?”

“I guess a better way to put it would be, the bridge is gone,” Jim says.

Stiles thinks of that enormous roll of thunder that morning. It hadn’t been thunder at all. The bridge had collapsed, probably under the strain of the weather, although more direct sabotage was certainly an option. “Oh boy.”

“You mean we’re trapped here?” Angela Peretti asks, her voice rising in alarm.

“When the hell were you going to tell us?” Mikael demands.

“Well, I thought, maybe once the storm had died down . . .”

“Shut up.” Vanessa cuts him off impatiently. “Christ.”

Stiles turns to Jackson. “How do you feel about building a Way?”

Jackson rubs a hand over the back of his head. “I could build one back to that diner we ate at right after we got to Maine, but I don’t know how they’d feel about a ton of people suddenly showing up on their doorstep. There’s nowhere _private_ around here that I could build one to.”

“What if you built one back to the den?” Stiles asks. It’s not a great solution, but he’s willing to let a few people crash at their den if it’ll keep them safe. He could send a few pack members with them to make sure they didn’t get into any trouble, if any of them were willing to leave him on this crazy island.

“I don’t think I can build one all the way across the country and have it be stable enough to get everyone through,” Jackson says. “But if Deaton helped, I probably could hold it long enough.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. “We’ll need him to help track down Dante anyway. But I haven’t seen him yet this morning. Let’s go see where he’s at.”

Jackson nods and heads down the hallway. Stiles and Derek follow. Tom and Chris stay in the foyer, to help keep everyone calm and organized. Jackson takes the stairs up to the third floor and heads down one of the hallways with Wilma on his heels, her normal tail-wagging unusually subdued. He stops at one of the doors and raps on it. “Hey, Alan?” he calls out.

After a minute goes by with no answer, Stiles says, “He’s probably already left his room, what with the screaming and all.”

“No, he’s in here. He’s doing something, I can feel it.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t bother him if he’s in the middle of something,” Derek says.

“It won’t mess him up. He can trance like nobody’s business. Probably why the screaming didn’t bother him.” Jackson rattles the knob, but it’s locked. “Hang on. Our rooms are adjoining and I don’t think he locked the door that connects them. We should be able to get in that way.”

Stiles follows him into the room next door, and then through the connecting door. Dr. Deaton is indeed in a trance, sitting Indian-style on the floor of his room, inside a circle that looks like it’s made of salt, not mountain ash. He doesn’t move a muscle when they come inside. Stiles is about to ask what they should do when Jackson says, “That’s weird.”

“What’s weird?” Stiles feels himself tense up.

“Well, it looks like he’s still trying to connect with the water elemental, but that should have taken him an hour, tops.” Jackson sees the question on Stiles’ lips and gestures impatiently. “The circle. Sea salt. Jesus, has he been at this all night?”

It’s a rhetorical question and Stiles makes no effort to answer it. The temperature in the room starts to drop, and he can tell that Jackson is doing something to try to figure it out himself. Jackson is holding one hand out, fingers brushing over where the barrier would start. Then he withdraws, frowning. “This is not good.”

“What?” Stiles asks, trying not to snap.

“There’s something . . . kind of like a barrier. Around his mind. He can’t get out and wake himself up, and if I tried to get in, odds are good I’d break, like, everything.”

Stiles doesn’t need to ask what breaking ‘everything’ might mean in a situation like this. “What if we break the circle?”

“Wouldn’t matter. The circle hasn’t mattered for hours.” Jackson is scowling. “He went looking for that water elemental, but I bet it was never even there. Sally’s the one who’s been controlling the storm. That’s why it was dipping in the evening. She spins it up at night, and then it lasts most of the day before the power starts to flag. But she lured him out into the, the energy surrounding the place, so she could slap him down. She knew he’s the one with the most power here and she wanted him out of play.”

“Will he be all right?” Derek asks.

“Physically, he’s fine, although I guess he’s gonna get real thirsty after a while,” Jackson says. “Let’s get him lying down.”

“Okay.” Derek picks Deaton up and puts him down on the bed. The veterinarian doesn’t respond to this, doesn’t move or protest. “I wonder if Scott has the stuff he would need to do an IV.”

“Probably, but I doubt he brought enough saline bags to last a week.” Stiles rubs both hands over his face. “Jackson, stay here with him. I’ll send Scott to you.”

They jog back down the stairs. The bodies have been moved, although there are still pools of blood. Most of the Hunter Council is gathered there, and Justin has ventured out of his room with Yasmin beside him, his arm around his shoulders. Wednesday is still there, leaning against Sketch’s shoulder, but her eyes are closed and it looks like she’s dozed off.

“Deaton is unavailable,” Stiles says, and Tom’s expression tightens. “Looks like he was trying to calm the storm and received a psychic bitch slap for his trouble. Jackson is with him. We’ll see what we can do for him, but in the meantime, we don’t have the juice necessary to build a Way that everyone can get through. We need to find a way to protect the civilian staff here, on the island.”

“Well, a room lined with mountain ash is probably the best way to do that,” Allison says.

Stiles looks around for the people who are the most comforting. “Julien, Sam, do you mind going to explain things to the staff? I mean, as much as we’re able? We can give them those suites on the second floor. They can stay safe there until we’ve figured out a long-term solution.”

Julien nods. “Okay. I’ve got some mountain ash in my things, should be enough.”

“What about the kids?” Hannah asks. “My grandson is here and he’s not trained enough for this.”

“We can separate the kids in another wing,” Tom says. “You can pass things through mountain ash, right? So it won’t be any problem to get them food.”

“Someone’s going to need to be in charge of the kitchen,” Jim says.

“I’ll talk to Victoria,” Chris says. “She’ll probably enjoy the challenge.”

“We’d better make sure everyone has adequate supplies,” Tom says. “Not just food and water, but candles, matches, toiletries. Poor kids are going to be bored out of their skulls. We should bring them some books and some of those games from downstairs to try to keep them occupied.”

“Condoms,” Justin puts in. Several people give him an offended look. It doesn’t faze him. “Those kids are what, fifteen through seventeen? Both guys and girls? And you’re locking them up with hardly anything to do, no electricity, and minimal adult supervision? Yep. Condoms.”

Chris pushes both hands through his hair. “I hate to say it, but he does have a point.”

“I don’t carry condoms with me everywhere I go,” Tom says.

“That’s cool, I do,” Justin says cheerfully. “Yas and I double team on birth control.”

“I can grab some from my stuff, too,” Stiles says, because he always carries an emergency condom in case of Erica, and she probably has an entire box of them.

“How many do you think they’ll need?” Mikael asks, with eyebrows arched, and then says, “Never mind. Don’t answer that. My daughter Maggie is only sixteen and I just don’t want to think about it. Just give me the supplies and I’ll corral the kids and give them The Talk.”

The group disperses. Chris heads off to talk to Victoria and see to supplies with Mikael. Sam and Julien go to talk to the staff. Sketch picks Wednesday up and says that he’s going to take her upstairs to get some rest. She’s too tired to do anything more than scowl at him.

Stiles realizes a moment too late that he’s suddenly standing in a group of people who can’t stand him, save one or two. Stella Jones folds her arms over her chest and says, “Well, I guess we can see who’s responsible for this disaster, can’t we?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Derek growls at her.

“Thirty-one hunters dead and another half dozen wounded, yet you and your pack are all fine,” Stella sneers.

“Only because Scott’s healed up from when you shot him yesterday,” Stiles retorts.

“Guess I should work on my aim.”

Stiles is about to unleash a truly devastating comeback – just give him a minute to think of one – when the eldest Gutierrez chooses to chime in. “She has a point. You avoided the ghouls’ attack. Could it be that none of your pack volunteered to patrol last night because you knew what was going to happen?”

“I didn’t volunteer my pack to patrol because I was afraid they would get _shot_.”

“And isn’t that convenient for you,” Stella says.

Stiles pushes both his hands through his hair. “Sure,” he says. “Just like it was ‘convenient’ that Max Loesch was killed and you blamed it on me. Just like it was ‘convenient’ that the spell Eli Whitaker put on me was designed to keep me from solving the crime that Ruben Gutierrez had committed. Just like it was ‘convenient’ when you were otherwise occupied when Whitaker came around to kill me. My life is just full of these conveniences. I’m like a fucking Circle K.”

Vanessa gives a snort of laughter. “I’ll grant that Stiles and his pack have been lucky to make it out unscathed so far, but given that their strategy has been ‘duck and cover’ since the Conclave started, that’s not too surprising. Exactly how do you suggest he arranged all this?”

“He already forced us to invite these curs,” Stella says, with a gesture at Justin. “Who knows who else he invited?”

“Yeah, I bet he went door to door at Jim Stoddard’s prison handing out RSVP cards,” Justin says, rolling his eyes in a manner that suggests he can’t even be bothered to get insulted.

“Well, someone got all these creatures here,” Gutierrez says.

“Maybe it was someone who’s intimately familiar with how these prisoners are operated,” Derek says, his glare practically boring holes into Gutierrez’s skull.

Hannah Winchester interrupts, sounding annoyed. “The only way we’ll find out is if we capture one of them and interrogate them. So the rest of you can do what you want, but I’m going to get to work.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would have such a hard time picking a favorite OC from this universe, but Wednesday is definitely in my top three. =D

 

Stiles gathers the pack in one of their rooms, and invites the alpha pack to join them. Everyone is tense and edgy. “First things first,” Stiles says. “Even the buddy rule is not going to soothe me right now. We’re going to split into groups of three. And I want one of the better fighters with each group, so sadly, I’ll have to split up some existing pairs. Derek will stay with me. Allison, you take Lydia and Danny. Isaac, you get Erica and Mac. Scott, Boyd and Jake.”

“What about Jackson?” Danny asks.

“For the time being, I think he’s going to be sticking with Deaton,” Stiles says. “Hopefully, he and Marzanna can figure out what to do for him.” He turns to Justin and says, “Obviously, I won’t tell you what to do, but the buddy system is great for ease of mind.”

Justin snorts. “Yeah, no shit.”

“And I was wondering if you would be willing to do me a favor,” Stiles says, and Justin’s eyebrows go up. “My father is here, and I’m deeply nervous about that. I’m probably going to wind up grounded for this, but what are the odds a couple of you could stick with him and watch his back?”

“Why us and not your pack?” Yasmin asks.

“Because he’ll get annoyed and try to shoo them away constantly,” Stiles says. “He won’t shoo you. You’re adults.”

A smile twitches at Ravinder’s lips. “I would be happy to watch your father’s back. He seems like an admirable soul.”

“He does at that,” Justin says. “He gets all commanding and shit whenever he’s five hundred percent done with hunter bullshit, which is basically all the time around here.” There’s a pause. “Is he like . . . available?”

“What? Oh my God! No.” Stiles feigns a shudder. “Straight and engaged and also _my dad_.”

Yasmin is grinning. “It was just a question.”

“We’ve all been there, sister,” Erica says, reaching out for a fist bump that Yasmin returns.

“If we can all stop discussing the different circumstances under which you might have been sexually attracted to my father,” Stiles says, “I appreciate it, Ravinder. Thank you.”

“I don’t see any reason why we can’t stick with you guys, anyway,” Justin says with a shrug. “Safety in numbers, and it’s not like we have anything better to do. Cora, you wanna stick with your brother?” he asks, and Cora responds with a scowl and a nod. “The twins can go with Allison’s group, and Yas and I can stick with Erica’s. Ravinder and Mei can watch your dad. If Scott stays around Deaton and Jackson, his group will be safe enough.”

“Sounds good to me,” Stiles says. “Hannah Winchester is organizing a search of the property. So we’ll see what she finds. The warlocks seem to be in here, and the ghouls and the werewolves are out in the forest. Chris and Julien are focusing on security, and my dad is with them currently. I’m going to go down to the kitchen and see if Victoria needs any help.”

“Well, hell, from what I hear that’s gonna be the safest place in the entire house, what do you need us for?” Justin asks, and Cora gives a little snort.

“Agreed, why do you think that’s where I’m headed?” Stiles asks. He exchanges quick hugs with the rest of the pack, and they split into groups.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Dinner is served at six PM. Since they aren’t sure how long the generators will last – they have enough gasoline for several days, but he’s afraid they’ll burn out if run continuously – they’ll eat the perishables first. As long as they don’t open the freezers, that food will stay frozen for a while, so Victoria empties the refrigerators of all the lunch meat, cheese, and vegetables, and sets up a buffet table.

“There’s probably enough food to last two weeks, electricity or no,” she told Stiles, looking through the cupboards. “Plenty of rice and pasta, and a lot of canned goods. So if we start with the perishables, the diet might get a little boring towards the end, but we won’t starve.”

“Okay,” Stiles replied, thinking that if people kept dying at the current rate, they’d probably be able to last even longer. Although knowing Victoria, she’s probably considered that already.

The atmosphere in the dining hall is tense. Hostilities flare twice, once when someone makes a nasty comment about something that happened during the search, and once over the last piece of roast beef. The fact that tempers are already that frayed worries Stiles.

“This is so bad,” he says, as the pack hunches over their sandwiches. “The isolation, the darkness, the danger combined with the boredom, this is the perfect recipe for a bunch of people to kill each other even if there weren’t supernatural nasties everywhere.”

Tom is nodding. “This place is a powder keg. And almost anything could qualify as a match.”

They searched the lodge at least three times over, and didn’t find any sign of Dante DeLuca. Two groups did get attacked by the other warlock, once with crows and once with hawks. A couple people had been wounded, but nobody had been killed. Stiles had managed to gain some points for his pack there, because one of the groups was Angela Peretti and a few of her people, joined by Isaac, Erica, and Mac, along with Justin and Yasmin. Although they hadn’t been able to help do anything about the sorcerer, they _had_ protected the hunters from the brunt of the attack. When Stella had started to go off at them as dinner was served, Angela had stepped in and told Stella to keep her opinions to herself.

The atmosphere quiets down a little as people finish eating. Victoria distributes paper towels with cookies on them.

“What’s the plan for tonight?” Wednesday finally asks, looking at the older members of the Hunter Council.

“We still need to have some sort of watch,” Chris says.

“And invite the same thing to happen again?” Mikael asks.

“What’s the alternative? Not having anyone on watch?” Chris sounds a little exasperated. Stiles frowns a little, picking at his cookies. Chris and Mikael are friends; if _they’re_ this close to losing their tempers with each other, things are going to go south quickly.

“If we make sure everyone has an adequate protection spell, I think it should be safe enough,” Julien says.

“How are we going to do that when our Druid is in some sort of magically induced coma?” Stella asks, and then adds sarcastically, “Although we can’t verify that, of course. Sure seems convenient.”

“Yep, the Circle K is still open for business,” Stiles says. Several people bristle, but several others snicker. “I suppose we don’t have enough mountain ash for everyone to line their rooms with it?”

“We barely had enough to ward in the kids and the staff,” Allison says.

“We should all stick together,” Vanessa says briskly. “Bring blankets and pillows into the lodge’s foyer. That’s big enough for everybody. Then we’ll set a perimeter around that to keep watch. What happened last night will be a lot less likely if we aren’t all spread out.”

“It’ll be just like Harry Potter,” Sam says, grinning.

Stiles is nodding. “And this way my pack can take turns on watch with everyone else,” he says.

“But not alone,” Stella says.

“Stella, nobody was going to suggest that, so will you please stop getting offended at things that haven’t even happened yet?” Mikael asks, his voice tight and thin.

Stella’s jaw tightens. “ _Somebody_ has to stand up to what’s happening here. That kid lured us all here, hired a bunch of supernatural assassins, and now he’s going to duck around and place least-in-sight while the rest of us get murdered.”

“Yes,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “I lured you here. To the Conclave you’ve held for centuries, at a location you guys chose. A+ deductive work there, Stella.”

“Stiles,” Tom says with a sigh.

“If I’d actually planned to kill you all, why would I have insisted on _coming_ to this godforsaken place?” Stiles continues. “I could have just hired it done and then gone to Rio, come back to finish off the scraps. I know that half of you hate my guts, but at least give me a little credit for my brains.”

“He’s got a point,” Wednesday says. “Stiles is a lot of things, but stupid ain’t one of them.”

“Yeah, we all know how many people here are licking his boots,” Stella says, sneering.

Wednesday looks at her for a second and then says quietly, calmly, “You’re wrong.”

“I – what?” Stella looks bewildered.

“You’re wrong. I think nobody has bothered to actually tell you that, so, I’m informing you: you’re wrong. You’re incorrect. You have made assumptions about Stiles that are not true, and then you have transferred those assumptions onto other people. You seem incapable of getting past these assumptions and making an evidence-based decision. Stiles and his pack have never hurt anyone – ”

“Gerard Arg – ”

“ – who has not hurt them first.” Wednesday talks over her without waiting. “If you examine their history and do your research, you will find that Stiles and his pack have been repeatedly, without due cause, subject to attacks from varying parties among our ranks. Despite this, he’s made an effort to keep diplomatic channels open at all times. He and Chris arranged for his presence at the Conclave so we could try to clear up some of the miscommunications that have surrounded what’s been happening in our world. Having actually researched his history, as well as the history of some of the parties present at this Conclave, it seems obvious to me that someone has arranged this to target Stiles, not to target any of the hunters here.”

“And it’s just coincidence that hunters are the ones who are dying?” the younger Gutierrez brother says, sneering.

Wednesday gives him the same look she would give a bug. “No,” she says patiently. “It’s not a coincidence. It’s strategy. Whoever has come here is thinning out the herd. The weaker people are going to be killed first. You could make the same point that everyone on the Hunter Council is still alive. Do you assume we arranged it because of that? No. You assume that we’ve survived thus far because we’re good at what we do. That’s why they came back from the ghoul hunt when two others didn’t. That’s why I survived last night when others didn’t. Not only that, but at least one of Stiles’ pack would be dead right now if it weren’t for his healing capabilities. You can hardly pretend those don’t exist.”

“So they take a little damage to make it look good,” Stella scoffs.

“You are not listening, Stella,” Wednesday says. “You’re still acting on your assumptions. If you would stop and think about what’s happened, strategically, then you would see the reasons why it would be foolish to assume that Stiles is the responsible party rather than the target. But you clearly aren’t interested in doing that, so as far as I can see, this conversation is pointless.”

Silence falls in the room. Stella is sputtering, and nobody seems to know what to do with the situation.

“Look, these things came from the Stoddard prison, we all agree on that,” Mikael says. “As far as I can tell, the most likely person to have brought them here is one of them.”

“Boy, you just couldn’t wait to make that accusation, could you,” Jim says.

“I have to agree with him, frankly,” Vanessa says. “You arranged all the details for the Conclave. It would have been simple for you to transport them here to ambush us.”

“Back when we were trying to get oversight on the prisons, you showed us one that was fake,” Julien says. “You could have been planning this for a while. You could have rigged the drawing to make sure the Conclave was on your turf.”

“Come on, guys,” Ned says, trying to play peacekeeper. “We wouldn’t do that and you know it. I know it’s been a little rough trying to hammer things out the past few years, but we’re not _murderers_.”

“Then how did they get here, Ned?” Hannah asks. “How the fuck did your prisoners wind up killing our people?”

“Until we can get to the prison, there’s just no way to know,” Ned says. “We need to find whichever sorcerer is powering this storm so we can get off the island and go find out.”

“Why don’t you have your sorcerer pal build us a Way there?” Jim asks. “We could go check it out.”

“A) Jackson can only build a Way to somewhere he’s already been,” Stiles says. “Okay, he could build one back to the mainland as long as you didn’t care about showing up on someone’s doorstep by magic, but B) then you’d have to take us to your prison, and you don’t seem to want anyone to know where it is.”

“We wouldn’t need to bring anyone. We could go by ourselves and then come back and report.”

“And we’d have reason to believe a single word you say because why?” Chris asks.

Jim’s jaw tightens again. “Well, nobody’s coming with us, so I guess that’s out, then.”

“How shocking,” Vanessa says.

A few low rumbles of annoyance sweep through the room, and it looks like it could turn into an all out brawl. Chris and Tom exchange a quick look, and Tom is apparently elected authority figure of the evening. “Okay, that’s enough,” he says, in his cop voice. “We’re not going to solve anything by sniping at each other. Let’s split into groups and get things set up in the lodge’s main room. Somebody should go check on the kids, the injured, and the staff.”

This is generally agreed to, but Stiles sees a frown lingering on his father’s face as they split into groups. “What is it?” he asks.

“A thought occurred to me,” Tom says, and waves Jackson over. Jackson scowls but joins them. “So, there was never any water elemental, right?”

“Yeah, not as far as I can tell,” Jackson says.

“I was just wondering, then, if there was even one at their prison,” Tom says, “or if Jim Stoddard had given me that piece of information, knowing I would pass it along . . .”

Stiles nods in understanding. “To lure Deaton out to try to settle it down.”

“Shit,” Jackson says.

“I don’t know, though,” Derek says, curling his hand around Stiles’. “Jim Stoddard seems pretty anti-sorcery overall. He doesn’t work with them, doesn’t trust them. Which means that I don’t know whether or not he would be aware that Deaton could do something like that.”

“Good point,” Tom says. “I’m not sure myself.” He’s frowning. “I think I’ll try to talk to Ned tomorrow, off the record. He seems like an easier nut to crack.”

Stiles nods in agreement, and they move about their respective tasks. Everyone is getting settled in the lodge’s main room, but it’s still far too early for even the early risers to be going to sleep. If everyone is allowed to continue to sit and talk to each other, it’s far too likely that tempers will flare again. After some discussion, they bring in the stack of games and decks of cards to try to keep everyone occupied.

Stiles and his pack end up in a corner, a little bit apart from the hunters. Some of them almost settle down next to him, then see him there and decide to move. Stiles just rolls his eyes. The alpha pack comes over and settles down with him. Tom has been ‘elected’ to spend the night with the staff and make sure they stay calm. Stiles wants him inside a mountain ash circle, regardless of what his father thinks about it. The rest of them are setting up watches. Stiles talks to Justin and they set up their own, and let the hunters do the same. That way there will always be a few of each on watch.

Wednesday comes in with Sketch on her heels. She’s still a little pale and obviously tired, but she sees the gulf of space between the hunters and Stiles’ pack, rolls her eyes, and immediately settles down into it. Several of the hunters look annoyed. It doesn’t seem to phase her a bit.

They might as well make the best of it, so Stiles commandeers several packs of cards, shuffles them together, and starts an epic game of Bullshit with the alpha pack. They enjoy themselves so much that the hunters give them dirty looks. After Ravinder wins for the third time – he has a bluffing face that could win international poker tournaments – they decide to quiet down and get some sleep.

Stiles doubts he’s going to sleep, which is moderately problematic. He barely slept the night before. It’s not bothering him yet, but it will soon. He doesn’t dare take his Lunesta in this environment, so he’s just going to have to tough it out. He’s debating how pissed off the hunters would be if he declared their ‘no wolves in public spaces’ rule to be null and void so he can have a pile of cuddly wolves (answer: very) when Mikael walks over. He has a faint frown on his face, but looks more confused than angry.

“My daughter asked me to give this to you,” he says, holding out a sheet of paper that’s been folded into a little triangle.

“Thanks,” Stiles says.

Mikael waits until Stiles’ hand has gotten within an inch of it, then pulls it back. “Why?”

“Are we seriously going to do that thing where you hold that over my head and make me jump for it?” Stiles asks.

“Yes, and I’m four inches taller than you. What is Annika doing on your behalf?”

Stiles sighs and thinks uncharitably about overprotective fathers, which is rather entertaining since he’s well aware that he’s the world’s most overprotective son. He glances around to make sure nobody is within earshot – which they aren’t, thanks to their stupid buffer zone – and says, “Annika is the only hunter I have a good relationship with, that everyone doesn’t _know_ I have a good relationship with. She agreed to talk to Stella and Agnes to see if they knew this was coming.”

“Ah,” Mikael says. He appears to consider this for a minute, then hands over the note. “Let’s see what she found out.”

Stiles unfolds it – where _do_ girls get this talent for folding sheets of paper into ridiculous, tiny triangles? – and reads it out loud. “Stella definitely not in the know. She’s convinced that you’re responsible and everyone is stupid for not throwing you into the harbor. Watch your back because she’s already recruited four or five guys to try to do just that. Including me, and she’s paying well enough that I have to admit I’m tempted.”

A slight smile crosses Mikael’s face. “Jesus, Anni,” he says, with a quiet chuckle.

Stiles keeps reading. “Not sure about Agnes. Definitely still pissed about the last Conclave, definitely doesn’t believe that Ariah died of a heart attack or whatever, thinks you killed her and got away with it. But I think _she_ thinks that Jim Stoddard arranged all of this, and as far as I can tell she’s going to sit back with her popcorn to see what happens. Nobody in the Gutierrez family will talk to me. Will keep trying.”

He folds up the note and tucks it into his pocket for later disposal. He’s sure that there will be a place in the kitchen he can burn it. Mikael looks pensive for a few moments before saying, “Does she know about Sally?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “I didn’t tell her. She was eavesdropping.”

“Sounds like her.” Mikael lets out a breath. “I guess I owe her an apology. She’s probably not thrilled that I assumed she would completely lose her shit.”

“She didn’t seem mad,” Stiles says, and Mikael gives a nod of thanks before squeezing Stiles’ shoulder and heading back towards his part of the slumber party. Stiles shakes his head and has a quick words with his pack about the developments before settling down in a pile of blankets. He’s not quite tired enough to sleep yet, but that’s okay, because it’s not his plan. He closes his eyes and focuses on the birch grove in his mind. “Peter?”

Peter strolls out of the trees. “So?” he says. “How much of a disaster do you have on your hands?”

“How is disaster measured?” Stiles asks. “I mean, do we use the Richter Scale for this? That would actually work pretty well. Let’s call it a nine point one disaster.”

“You’re not funny,” Peter says.

“I’m hilarious,” Stiles says with a smirk. But it quickly fades. He sums up the situation for Peter, and doesn’t skimp on the detail. He knows how Peter thinks, and that Peter will want to know everything.

“Should’ve taken my advice and gone to Rio,” Peter says.

“Coulda shoulda woulda,” Stiles agrees, “but that’s not really the advice I was looking for.”

“Well, you probably won’t like my actual advice any better,” Peter says, “which is to get up, walk across the room, and shoot Sally twice in the head.”

“And when her father returns the favor?”

“Shoot him too.”

Stiles sighs and rubs both hands over his face. “Some _practical_ advice, please?”

“And I’m sure that you won’t like my tertiary advice of ‘find a quiet room and lock yourselves inside until the monsters have killed everyone else’,” Peter says, and shakes his head. “You _do_ make this difficult sometimes, Stiles. Now, the upside is that Sally doesn’t seem to be targeting you specifically. She’s just stirring the pot to see what you’ll do. But my concern is that you keep focusing on her when she is not the danger. She is not trying to kill you right now. She’s happy to lurk in the background and watch the fun. But while you’re busy thinking about what to do about her, you’ve got bigger fish you should be frying.

“I’m particularly concerned about this Dante DeLuca. He’s clearly quite powerful. But you’ve also got at least one unfriendly alpha werewolf, another unpredictable sorcerer, a bunch of ghouls, and let’s not forget whatever ‘surprise’ Sally has tucked away. And even if you did somehow manage to expose Sally and take care of her, you’re still trapped on an island with a bunch of things that want to kill you. So yes, I think you should take your pack and barricade them in somewhere until all this blows over.”

“Stop at the Winchester for a pint?” Stiles jokes, and Peter gives him a blank look. “God, you missed so much pop culture, it’s depressing. Frankly, I’m more worried that the hunters are all going to kill each other.”

“I’m more worried that the hunters are going to kill _you_ ,” Peter says. “But all right. Sally. I think it’s time we used this little persona of hers against her. Tomorrow night – and yes, I understand a lot could happen between now and then, but it’s unavoidable – I think you should suggest, or have someone like Chris or Mikael suggest, that Sally be put in the room with either the children, or the injured.”

“What good will that – hell,” Stiles says, picking up on what Peter is saying. “She can’t go in. It’s lined with mountain ash.”

Peter nods. “Which would force her to refuse, which her false face would never do. It wouldn’t be enough evidence to have her tried and convicted, but it will raise flags, which you can use later.”

“What if she just breaks the circle?”

“She’d hardly be able to manage without being noticed,” Peter says. “Her father seems very protective of her. He’d certainly insist on walking her to the room, and she won’t be able to get through the door. Even if she claims she scuffed it accidentally, again, it will raise flags. And I don’t think she’d risk it, because even if she was able to claim it was an accident, somebody would come fix it. Then she’d be locked in the room, cut off, and that’s the last thing she wants. She has to spin the storm up every night. If she can’t do that, come the next morning, everyone’s going to be swimming for the mainland.”

Stiles nods. “Okay. I’ll give it a whirl.”

The birch grove dissolves and Stiles rolls onto his side, wishing again for a pile of wolves to curl into. He dozes for a little while, wakes up twice from bad dreams. He tries to read for a little while, but the room is fairly dim, and it just ends up giving him a headache. When he falls asleep again, the thunder keeps waking him.

So he’s fairly surly when he wakes the next morning. It’s just past dawn, and most of the others are still asleep. He sees Yasmin and Erica sitting together, and Erica beckons him over when she sees him looking around. “Wanna hear something hilarious?” she asks.

“Oh, God, yes,” he says, yawning and wondering when coffee will appear. He might have to go make it himself if it isn’t soon.

“Well, the Gutierrez family started off this morning with a family conference,” Erica says. “It clearly didn’t occur to them that we could hear every word they said, even if they spoke in low voices. Or maybe it didn’t occur to them that the two Hispanic chicks on the other side of the room might, I don’t know, _speak Spanish_.”

Stiles chortles. “That _is_ hilarious. Anything good?”

“Actually, it was pretty interesting,” Yasmin says. “They had a good old argument. Apparently, the younger brother – Marcos, I think? – and one of the women, Carmen, are arguing hard that they need to stop being assholes. Probably because they’re fucking broke. They’ve lost all their backers and they’re having trouble keeping their hunting business afloat. After a couple nasty incidents, some old biddy from the Order of St. James told them that they’d be _happy_ to take New Mexico off their hands. And maybe Arizona, too.”

“Probably Agnes, she seems the type,” Stiles says.

“So Marcos and Carmen want to try to get on Chris and Mikael’s good side, in the hopes that they’ll pardon their past misdeeds, so to speak, and hook them up with a couple backers,” Erica says. “Which to them apparently means siding against Stoddard, because among themselves, they’re all pretty sure that Stoddard is the one responsible for our current situation.”

“Easy enough conclusion to come to,” Stiles agrees. “But the others don’t agree?”

“Nope. The older guy thinks they should team up with Stoddard, wipe all of the bleeding hearts out, and then steal the backers that are left over on the principle that they’d rather have bad hunters than no hunters,” Yasmin says. “And the other two agree with him. Ruben has been mentioned several times. Marcos and Carmen think he got what he deserved – Luis, too, for that matter. In fact, Carmen seems to blame all of that on Vivien Nazario, since Luis was acting on her orders.”

“Basically, none of them really like each other, and none of them really like anyone else,” Erica says cheerfully. “But if we can get Carmen and Marcos away from the rest of them, we might be able to make some headway.”

“Interesting,” Stiles says. The other hunters are starting to stir now, as light floods the room through the glass doors. The island faces east, and although the sun is nowhere to be seen through the torrential downpour, there’s still light. “I guess we’ll see what today brings. Coffee, I hope.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many people are 500% done in this chapter. I really enjoyed writing it. =D

 

Stiles gets up and starts to check in with the others as they rouse. Derek is sleepy and growly, but insists on getting up to go with him as he makes the rounds. Chris is similarly surly. Stiles asks Allison and Scott to go check on the wounded and the staff, and let his father know that the sun is up and it’s safe to come out. Wednesday seems back to her normal self and says her arm feels much better. Jackson wants to go check on Deaton, who’s still up in his room, so Stiles sends Danny, Lydia, and Mac with him.

The adults are already arguing about what to do, although at least they aren’t trying to get Stiles involved this time. Jim keeps suggesting that they search the lodge, which has Hannah Winchester and Angela Peretti pissed at him, since they had coordinated the search the previous day. “There’s no one here to find,” Angela insists.

Julien suggests that they go take a look at the damage to the bridge, and that has Jim angry because Julien won’t take his word for it that the bridge is, in fact, completely gone. Most of the others side with Julien, but they’re also not eager to venture out into this weather.

Victoria comes in with coffee and passes it around. Stiles pulls her aside and makes a quiet suggestion about the coffee she’s about to give the Stoddards. She’s amused, but says it won’t work; Sally must have brought her own food. “I’ve been watching her since the first night,” Victoria says. “She hasn’t eaten or drank anything that’s been supplied by us.”

“Too bad,” Stiles says. He had been hoping a little wolfsbane in her cup might help his case to get her to ‘take shelter’ with the other wounded overnight. Victoria just shakes her head at him and heads back to the kitchen.

A minute later, there’s an enormous crash. Stiles’ head whips around. Chris is already on his feet, running towards the kitchen, and Allison is close on his heels. Stiles gets up to follow them.

He arrives in the kitchen to total chaos. There are three werewolves there. One of them is pinned to the wall by a carving knife through the eye. A second is on the floor, curled up and moaning. But the third has just taken a wicked swipe at Victoria, and Stiles can see the blood soaking through her shirt.

“Vicky, down!” Chris thunders, and Victoria immediately drops to the floor. The werewolf is smart enough that he doesn’t turn to see who shouted, but does the same. Chris’ bullet catches him in the shoulder rather than somewhere more critical, as he tries to avoid hitting Victoria. The werewolf throws himself through one of the glass windows and vanishes into the rain. Chris swears and kneels next to Victoria while Allison trains her bow on the werewolf that’s on the floor.

“I’m all right,” Victoria says, her voice even, but a little tighter than usual. “They were trying to steal the food.”

“Starve us out,” Chris surmises. He gives a low whistle through his teeth as he looks at Victoria’s wound. “Not deep. Let’s get you patched up.”

He picks her up, despite Victoria’s protests that it’s not necessary. Stiles has a feeling that she’s secretly enjoying it. He studies the wounded werewolf. There’s a dented frying pan on the floor next to her, and a lot of blood, but whatever injuries Victoria dealt her have healed. By now, Derek and several other pack members are behind him. “Get her up,” he says, so Derek and Isaac take her by the elbows and lift her to her feet, dragging her out into the main room.

“Won’t be doing much more fighting while you’re here,” Scott is saying to Victoria as he dresses the wound. “I mean, not if you don’t want to tear it back open.”

“I’m aware,” Victoria says.

Derek shoves the werewolf to the floor and asks for something to restrain her. Vanessa and her nephew come out of the crowd with some wolfsbane infused rope, which makes Derek wrinkle his nose.

“Why are we restraining her instead of killing her?” Stella asks. “She tried to kill one of us.”

“If we’re going to be absolutely technical, which I see will be a necessity,” Victoria says, “only one of them attacked me unprovoked, and that’s the one I killed. The other two attacked me after I killed him, which is understandable.”

“They were still trying to steal our food and starve us to death,” Stella says.

“We’re not killing her because we can use her,” Jim says. “We still need to find her alpha and the rest of her pack. That’s one advantage to these cur – ” He breaks off the slur when a low growl reverberates through the room. Stiles isn’t even sure which werewolves are growling, but it’s a lot of them. “To werewolves,” he modifies. “They never leave a man behind.”

“Well, we don’t exactly want them breaking in to get her,” Mikael says.

“No, but if we leave her out front, we can snipe them as they show up,” Jim says. “Or, a better idea. Weight her down and throw her in the pool. They’ll _have_ to come for her then.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tom says. “No.”

Jim ignores him. “And that’s a wide open space, too, so if we put a few people with rifles in the upstairs rooms – ”

“Listen to me, you son of a bitch,” Tom says, losing his temper. “That’s not going to happen.”

Several of the hunters look somewhat conflicted. “It would be . . . effective,” Mikael says, albeit somewhat reluctantly. “You have to remember that these werewolves _are_ trying to kill us. It’s not the sort of thing I would do to a werewolf who hasn’t done anything wrong, but . . .”

“If there is such a thing,” Stella says.

“Honey, I will bitch slap you so hard that you’ll see your ancestors,” Allison tells her.

Stella opens her mouth to retort, but Jim talks over her. “What would you rather we do? Sit here and wait for them to attack again? To steal our supplies?”

“Let’s get something straight,” Tom says. “I find it very possible that these werewolves are entirely in the right. That they were imprisoned unjustly. We have only your word that this alpha was a ‘bad egg’, as you put it, and I find your word completely useless. So if you captured them, imprisoned them, tortured them, likely killed off several of their packmates, then yes. I find their behavior one hundred percent justified, especially stealing the supplies, since they were likely dumped on this island without any supplies of their own. And if you weight this girl down with rocks and throw her in the pool, that is cold blooded murder, and I _will not allow it_.”

“Since when are you the one allowing me to do anything?” Jim sneers at him.

“Since right now,” Tom says. “I am an officer of the law. I am justified in using lethal force if I think the life of a civilian is at risk, and I am absolutely comfortable doing so.”

Ned clears his throat. “Before this gets any further out of hand,” he says, “Sheriff Stilinski, what do you suggest?”

“I suggest that we interview this woman as a witness to the escape that you people keep claiming couldn’t possibly have happened,” Tom says, and then can’t help adding, “like a reasonable adult.”

“Like we would be able to believe anything she says!” Jim protests.

Stiles holds up a hand. “I have an idea,” he says. “A compromise of sorts. But we can’t discuss it while she can hear us.”

Chris narrows his eyes at Stiles, then nods. “Allison and I will take her back to the kitchen. Victoria can come. I doubt she’ll try anything.”

A minute later, the werewolf has been led away, and the mood seems to be edging back from complete disaster. Stiles takes a deep breath, reaches out and squeezes his father’s wrist. “So, Stella. Remember when you had Eli cast that spell on me, that gave me forty-eight hours to find the real killers? I suggest we do something similar here. Put a spell on the werewolf that says if she doesn’t return, with the rest of her pack, within a reasonable amount of time, the spell will kill her. That will get her entire pack here, where we can restrain them, without violence.”

Tom gives his son a look that borders on being appalled. “After what that spell did to you – ”

“But,” Stiles says, “don’t _actually_ cast the spell on her. Just _tell her_ that’s what we’re doing. Then chant some nonsense, make an hourglass appear on her forearm. Better yet, make it a locator spell. That way we can keep track of her in case she doesn’t return. Even if the alpha calls our bluff and would rather let his pack member die, at least then we’ll know that, and we can use the locator spell to go get him.”

Several of the hunters are nodding. Hannah Winchester turns to one of her hunters and says, “Can you do that sort of spell? With the fake hourglass and everything?”

“Yeah,” the young man says. “Won’t even be that hard.”

Tom is nodding, and after a minute, he reaches out and squeezes Stiles’ shoulder. “That’s good. It’ll give us an estimation of the alpha’s character, if he chooses not to come here. But we’ll lose our chance to question her if that happens.”

“Yeah, I’m not thrilled with that,” Stiles says, “but even if _we_ believed what she said, a lot of the hunters here wouldn’t, so I don’t know how far it would get us.”

“There are spells that can be used to make someone tell the truth,” Angela says, but then adds, “but they’re difficult, and I don’t think any of my people can do them. What about your sorcerer friend?”

“He could,” Stiles says, “but the Stoddards and their buddies don’t think he’s reliable, either. But we can at least ask her a few questions after we get the spell on her. It might put her in the mood to talk.”

Tom nods. “Okay, let’s do it.”

Several of the pack leave to go get Chris and the werewolf out of the kitchen. Stiles gets a better look at her as she comes back. She’s been crying, and she looks terrified. She hardly strikes him as a killer. To be honest, she looks like a soccer mom. Then again, Sally Stoddard has taught him that looks can be deceiving.

“Okay.” Mikael takes the lead, since too many of the others are still vibrating with rage. “What’s your name?”

The woman swallows hard and whispers, “Colleen.”

“Here’s what we’re going to do, Colleen. We’re going to put a spell on you that ties to your life force. It’ll give you two hours to get back to the forest and bring the rest of your pack here. If you do that, we’ll take the spell off. If we don’t, the spell will kill you. Do you understand?”

A few more tears spill over, but she nods. “I understand.”

“If you do what we ask, we’re not going to hurt you,” Mikael says. Her gaze flickers from him and then over to Jim and Stella.

“I know you don’t trust them,” Stiles says, crouching in front of her. “But you know who I am,” he adds, tugging on the string of his red sweatshirt. “So can you trust me?”

Colleen nods.

“Okay. Then why don’t you go find your pack, talk to Kaleb, and bring them here.”

There’s a brief pause, and then Colleen says, “Wait, who’s Kaleb?”

Silence.

“Oh, you _son of a bitch_ ,” Mikael says, turning on Jim.

Jim’s already raised his hands in surrender. “How is this my fault? I couldn’t know that there would be more than one alpha on this island!”

“How many alphas were in your prison?” Vanessa asks, her voice flat and angry. When Jim hesitates, she reaches out and grabs him by the wrist, twisting his arm around. “How many, Stoddard?”

“Agh – let go of me, you crazy bitch! There were three, okay?”

Vanessa releases him. Stiles shoves both hands through his hair, looks at his father, looks at Chris. Then he turns back to Colleen. Careful to keep his voice steady, he says, “Colleen, what is your alpha’s name?”

Colleen sniffles a little and says, “Janea. Uh, Janea Willis.”

“Well, she’s just as bad as Kaleb,” Jim says with a snort, massaging his shoulder and throwing Vanessa a dirty look. “So nothing about my solution to the situation has changed.”

A snarl rolls through the room, and everyone flinches at the intensity of the sound and the rage that floats on the air after it. Somewhat reluctantly, Jim Stoddard and several other hunters turn to look at Justin. He’s standing now, eyes crimson, with the alpha pack spread out behind him in a loose V. “Janea. Willis.” Justin takes a moment to consider. “I know that name. I know that alpha. I tested that alpha. I. Tested her. She passed. She’s a good woman. There is _nothing_ you can say that would make me believe she started turning people against their will and hurting innocents.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Jim sneers at Justin.

His sneer doesn’t last long. Justin steps right up to him, toe-to-toe. “Oh, you wanna dance, Stoddard?” he asks, and Stiles notices for the first time that Justin is the only person on the island who’s actually larger than Jim Stoddard. He’s got about an inch on him, and his shoulders are just as broad. It’s easy to forget, since Justin is so easy-going and mellow, but he’s a terrifying specimen when he wants to be. “Step right up. We’ll see how well you do when you pick on someone your own size.”

Tom glances at Stiles, clearly a little uncertain, but Stiles just shrugs. Jim doesn’t look like he’s going to back down, and Stiles sure as hell doesn’t want to get between the two of them.

“Do you think I don’t see you reaching for your gun?” Justin adds. “Go ahead, Stoddard. Give me two to the chest. You think it’ll even slow me down? I’m the alpha of alphas, you arrogant son of a bitch. Who the _fuck_ do you think you’re dealing with?”

It’s Yasmin who intervenes, and she does it just by quietly saying, “Justin,” and laying her hand on his forearm. He glances at her and then steps back. She folds her hand into his and says, “Let’s go find Janea.”

“Let’s do that,” Justin agrees. As the red fades from his eyes, the room lets out a collective breath that half of them hadn’t realized they were holding. Then he turns to Vanessa. “Get those ropes off her,” he says, and then modifies, “Please and thanks.”

Vanessa takes out a knife longer than her forearm and cuts Colleen free.

“Okay, Colleen,” Justin says. “Me and my crew are going to head out into the forest with you to find Janea and the rest of your pack. I absolutely promise that _nobody_ is going to hurt you. Okay?” he says, and she nods. He slings one arm around her shoulders and the other around Yasmin’s, and says, “Ethan, Aiden, you’re with us. Rindy, Mei, Cora, stay here with the others.” With that, he heads for the door.

Everyone takes several deep breaths once he’s gone. Then Chris turns to Jim and says, “Explain.”

“Explain what,” Jim says, through gritted teeth. “You never asked if there might be other alphas on the island. You asked who the alpha in the forest was, and I told you.”

“For God’s sake, Stoddard,” Hannah says. “This wasn’t a hostile interrogation. We’re all _supposed_ to be in this together, and if you knew there might be one more alpha out there, you should have told us!”

“But we all know why he didn’t, right?” Cora asks, eyes narrowed. She steps up beside Derek. “Because there was no damned reason for her and her pack to be in their prison. And he probably knew she was a pretty recent alpha, and so he probably knew that one of us would recognize her name, and call him out on it.”

“Who’s in my prison is none of your business,” Jim says to her.

“Pretty sure that Justin just begged to differ,” Cora retorts, “and I’d be happy to differ, too.”

Derek puts an arm around his sister’s shoulder and levels Jim with a cold stare. “Who’s the third?”

“I don’t remember his name.”

“Do you _really_ expect us to believe that?” Mikael asks.

“I don’t care what you believe, Aronsson.”

Wednesday looks around the room and says, “Well, if Stoddard wants to treat this like a hostile interrogation, I think we should make it one. I learned some techniques to make people talk. Who wants to help?”

“Let’s leave torture as a last resort,” Tom says, although he seems a little reluctant to Stiles. “We all need a break right now. It’ll probably take a little while for Justin and the others to get back. So why don’t we all take a breather.”

“I’ll go put some breakfast together,” Stiles says, and thinks about it for a minute. Danny, Lydia, and Mac are still upstairs. “Boyd, Erica, you want to come help me out? Scott, I want you to take the others upstairs and stay with Jackson.”

“Roger that,” Scott says. They’ve come a long way since the days when Jackson was an enemy. They’re probably safer with him than they are with almost anybody else.

“I’ll help, too,” Wednesday says. “Raised three siblings, remember?”

“Hell, I basically raised myself,” Sketch says, laughing.

Stiles laughs, too, and they head into the kitchen. There’s still some ham from the lunch meat – not enough to really serve, but would make a great addition to scrambled eggs. And there are tons of eggs, so that will work for the main course. He finds some ready to bake rolls and pastries in the freezers, and directs his small staff to throw them in. There are also a bunch of bags of frozen hash browns.

For a while, he gets into it and forgets their dire situation. He makes three batches of eggs, one with peppers and onions and ham, one with just ham, and one plain in case there are any other vegetarians besides Mac. His helpers scurry to and fro, taking out batches as they’re ready so people can take turns eating. By the time that’s done, he’s thinking about the werewolves who are going to be showing up soon. They’re going to be hungry.

There are a ton of large cans of broth, so he decides to make soup. He tosses in some pasta and finds a package of chicken in the refrigerator that was clearly meant for something else. They’re running a little low on vegetables, but he doubts the werewolves will care much. He puts in some carrot and celery. It’s not the world’s most exciting soup, but they won’t be in any position to care.

“Hey.” Chris gives the kitchen door a quick knock. “Justin’s back, and I think you’d better get out here.”

Stiles nods. “Bring the soup,” he says to Boyd and Erica, who nod and start getting it ready to transport. He throws the kitchen towel over his shoulder and heads out into the room. There are four sopping wet werewolves sitting in the center of the room. Justin has commandeered several towels and blankets and is clearly trying to get them dried off and warmed up.

“ – do with them now that you’ve gotten them here,” Stella is saying as Stiles comes into the room.

“I’ve got some ideas,” Justin says, and the glint in his eyes is unsettling.

“Why don’t we start with soup?” Stiles says loudly, and everyone looks at him. The others are behind him, carrying a tray with some bowls on it. He hadn’t been sure how many werewolves there would be, so it’s more than enough. He sees all their eyes widen, and one of them licks their lips involuntarily. “Careful, it’s still hot.”

“You make that with our rations?” Jim asks.

“Whatcha gonna do about it, Jimmy boy?” Stiles asks.

“Let’s try not to all immediately start arguing again,” Angela Peretti says. “Okay? We have some decisions to make, obviously . . .”

“How much mountain ash do we have left?” Chris asks Julien.

Julien grimaces. “Not much. Maybe enough to ward one more room.”

“Well, one would be enough,” Chris says. “So why don’t we take them somewhere safe where they can wait until we’ve gotten everything settled?”

“They can use ours,” Justin says, “since we’re apparently going to be staying down here at night anyway.” He’s watching the pack, who are hungrily eating the soup, even though it’s still hot enough that it has to be scalding their mouths. “We’ll leave them some supplies and ward them in.” He turns and sweeps the entire room with a crimson gaze. “Of course, that will only protect you from them. It won’t protect them from you. So I want to make it clear right here and now that anyone who touches _any_ of these ‘wolves will answer directly to me. And you will not like my answer.”

Several people shift uneasily. The werewolves finish eating in silence. Julien goes to get the mountain ash. Finally, Janea – a somewhat short, dark-skinned woman, looks up. She sees Victoria on the edge of the crowd. “I’m sorry my beta attacked you,” she says in a soft voice. “We were hungry but it was no excuse. I’ll take full responsibility for his actions.”

Victoria looks at her for a long moment, then says, “I’m all right, thank you. And you have my . . . condolences, on the loss of your pack member.”

Tom pulls a chair over so he can sit down facing Janea. “I have a few questions for you, about how you got out of the prison,” he says, and Janea nods. “First off, how long have you been in there?”

“About three months, maybe?” Janea says. “It’s hard to be sure. The days blended together. But it was just spring when we were captured.”

“How many of you?”

Janea’s face crumples and she does her best to stifle a sob. “E-Eight.”

Five had left the prison, and now they were down to four. Stiles feels a pang of sympathy for her. His father doesn’t slow down. “How did you get out?”

“It was – at night. The doors all opened. A voice came on over the loudspeaker. A kind of computerized voice? Like whoever did it had run it through a synthesizer to hide their identity. It said all the doors were open and told us how to get out. But then as soon as I ran through the doors, I was in this forest. I could feel my other pack members were here, so I started looking for them. A minute later, we heard that voice again, saying that the hunters would be arriving soon and – and assigning everyone point values. Hunters were ten, werewolves twenty, and then a few of the other hunters were fifty. And – the Boy in Red – he’s worth a hundred points. Whoever accrued the most points by the end of the Conclave would get rewarded.”

“Jesus Christ,” Vanessa says.

“What a crock of shit,” Jim Stoddard says. “How would that even work?”

“It’s called opening a Way,” Allison says, rolling her eyes at him. “If you weren’t such a racist jerk who think sorcerers are some kind of other species, you would know that. But,” she adds, looking at Stiles, “to open a Way from the prison directly to here, stable enough to move a bunch of people through – that would take a lot of juice, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Especially since there were two Ways. Because not everyone from the prison is here. There just wouldn’t be room.”

“They might just not have opened all the cells,” Ned says, obviously hoping that some of their prison might still be intact.

“Also a possibility,” Stiles says.

“Well, if you’re worth a hundred points, I think we can finally stop arguing about whether or not you’re the one who put all this together,” Wednesday says. “And the first person to say that you could have just done that to deflect suspicion, I will knife.”

“Thanks, Wednesday,” Stiles says.

Justin shakes his head at them. “I’m taking Janea and the others upstairs,” he says, and starts ushering them down the hallway. Stiles is already thinking about the math. Sally had said there were fifteen werewolves on the island. Janea and her pack accounted for five. That left ten, one of whom was definitely an alpha, the rest of whom might or might not be his betas.

After ten more minutes of bickering hunters, Stiles turns to Chris and says, “You know what? I’m taking the rest of my pack, and my father, and we’re going to go hide upstairs until everyone’s done arguing about what they’re going to do today, because frankly I couldn’t care less.”

Chris sighs. “Take Victoria with you,” he says.

“Sure thing,” Stiles says. “Dad?”

“I think I should stay here,” Tom says, watching the bickering adults. “I want to take a crack at Ned if the crowd thins out some. He might know more about these other two alphas, and he might be willing to talk if we can get him away from his brother.”

Chris nods. “I’ll help you with that.”

“Fine by me,” Stiles says, then looks at Ravinder and Mei. Ravinder gives him a quiet nod. Tom sees this interaction and rolls his eyes, but doesn’t protest his assigned bodyguards. Stiles slides his arm through Derek’s and heads up the stairs.

The rest of the pack is in Jackson’s room, but Jackson isn’t. Allison helps her mother sit down in the chair underneath the window, then says, “Where’d Jackson go?”

“He’s trying some hoodoo to get through to Deaton,” Danny says.

“I’ll go see how he’s doing,” Stiles says, heading through the door. The temperature drops twenty degrees as he goes through the door. He starts to shiver, and Derek immediately shifts to his wolf form to have a layer of fur. Deaton is laid on his back on the bed, encased in a layer of ice. Jackson is sitting cross legged at his feet, with Wilma curled up next to him.

“Yikes,” Stiles says under his breath.

Jackson opens one eye and looks at him irritably. “Look, I’m trying to find a way to keep him alive while we figure out how to fix him. Cryogenic stasis was the obvious answer to that question. If you don’t have anything helpful to say, get the fuck out.”

Stiles lifts his hands in surrender. “I was just coming in to check on you. Is there anything I can do?”

“No. Well.” Jackson frowns suddenly. “Okay, so, I had a thought. About how I might be able to fix this. But I need someone who can do the spell with me. Another sorcerer. Because I need someone to anchor me. Think of it like – ” He waves his hand vaguely. “Deaton’s at the bottom of a well. And I could rappel down and get him. But then I’d just be stuck down there with him. But if I had someone up top to pay out the line and pull me back up, I could do it.”

“But it can’t just be a regular person?” Stiles asks.

Jackson shakes his head. “No, and those small fry wouldn’t be powerful enough, either. To pull just me up, maybe, but not me and Deaton both.”

Stiles grimaces. “I don’t see how I can help you there. I’m fresh out of sorcerers.”

“Are we, though?” Derek has shifted back and has a pensive expression on his face. “What about the bird guy?”

There’s a pause while Stiles thinks that over. It’s true that the third sorcerer – Blake or Blaine or something, he can’t remember – has only used his magic defensively. He hasn’t hurt anybody. He just creates confusion and runs away. “We don’t know how Sally chose who to bring,” he says thoughtfully, “but Janea has proven that she didn’t _only_ bring people who wanted to kill a bunch of hunters. That, in conjunction with this guy’s behavior, does mean he’s a possible ally.”

“I don’t know how the hell we could get to him, when he flings birds at us whenever we get too close,” Jackson says.

“The same way you would get to any spooked animal,” Derek says. “Move slow. Call his name. Tell him that we’re not trying to hurt him.”

Stiles nods. “I think it might work,” he says. “Let’s give it a shot.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently, back in Forgotten But Not Gone, I briefly mentioned that Marcos Gutierrez was one of the guys working with Eli Whitaker. Uh, please pretend I didn't do that, because I like him much better in this role here. That Gutierrez was .... some other Gutierrez. There are enough of them. =D
> 
> (I'm losing track of my cast, send help)

 

The sorcerer has been in one of the unoccupied wings every time they’ve found him so far, so it makes sense that he’ll still be there. That means it shouldn’t take long to search the hotel, even if they move slowly. Stiles doesn’t want to split up, and Jackson wants to stay with Deaton. After some consideration, Stiles takes Derek, Scott, and Allison with him. Cora declares she’s going, too, because she obviously doesn’t intend on letting her brother out of her sight. But Stiles wants to limit the group as much as possible, so they’re not intimidating.

First, he stops downstairs to see how the hunters are doing and check in with his father and Chris. They’ve implemented a number of plans for the day. Stella insisted on taking another hunting party out into the woods, stating that if they could arm themselves for ghouls _and_ werewolves, it wouldn’t be the same disaster as before. Chris seems skeptical, but didn’t care enough to argue. Several of the others are looking through the electronics available in the lodge to see if they can cobble together a radio to call the mainland.

“Not that it will matter, since nobody can send a helicopter or a boat until the weather calms down,” Chris says. Jim has apparently told the others about the water elemental that might or might not be there, and now they’re trying to figure out how they might capture or kill it. Stiles decides that they’re welcome to waste their time doing that.

“Maybe that’s why I’ve perseverated on getting rid of Sally, instead of fighting the monsters she brought here,” Stiles muses, as they head upstairs. “She’s the one fueling the storm. If we could get rid of her, we could just get everyone the hell off this island. Ghouls and werewolves be damned.”

“If only it were that easy,” Derek says. “Did you see her this morning? Hovering right by her daddy’s elbow? We’re not going to get any sort of shot at her.”

“Mm.” Stiles leaves it in the back of his mind to percolate. They’ve reached one of the unoccupied wings. Stiles stands at the mouth of the hallway and thinks for a minute before he starts to talk in a slow, deliberate voice. “Blaine? Are you here?” He gives it a minute. “We’re not going to hurt you. We just want to talk.” He takes a few steps forward. “We think that we can help you. We know you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Complete silence. Stiles drops his hands. “He’s not here.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Cora says, rolling her eyes.

They repeat the process one floor up. Still nothing. The next floor has the staff and the wounded, so he obviously isn’t there, and they head to one of the other wings. Derek tenses as soon as they reach the hallway, and so Stiles is careful to keep his voice particularly calm. “Hey, Blaine, are you up here? We just want to talk, okay?”

A crow appears at the end of the hallway, perched on the table underneath the window. It eyes them warily, but doesn’t attack.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Stiles says, and then another crow suddenly appears next to the first. “Jesus,” Stiles mutters under his breath. “Come play with us, Danny.”

“Shut up,” Scott hisses, as the crows continue to multiply.

“We just want to talk, Blaine,” Stiles says, trying not to let his nervousness show. “Okay? Why don’t you come out? You must be hungry. There’s some soup downstairs. How does that sound?”

From the floor above them, there’s a crash, and then a scream, which cuts off abruptly and ends with a thud. The crows respond immediately, flying straight at Stiles and his pack. Derek throws himself on top of Stiles while Scott does the same to Allison. A moment later, the birds are gone, and Stiles is sure that Blaine is, too. But it could be worse. He was willing to listen. They can try again.

At the moment, he has more important things to deal with. As soon as they’re on their feet, he barrels towards the staircase at the end of the hallway. He emerges in the hallway on the third floor to find a dead body and –

and a –

“Holy shit,” he says, as the creatures turns and looks at him. It’s a velociraptor, identical to the ones in every Jurassic Park movie he’s ever watched a dozen times, with a dismembered arm in its mouth. It blinks at him, and he’s suddenly sure that he’s closer to death than he’s ever been before –

and then the dinosaur _smiles_ at him, the arm falling out of its mouth and hitting the floor with a sick thump.

A moment later, it’s dissolved in a flash of greenish gray dust, and a man is standing there, identical to Stiles in every way, right down to the red hoodie. “Stiles!” he says.

“Ian?!” Stiles says, trying not to hyperventilate.

“Sorry I’m late,” Ian says, smiling beatifically. “I had trouble getting here.”

“Why did you – ”

Ian looks at the body. “Oh, he tried to kill me.” He frowns slightly and then adds, “Actually, he tried to kill _you_. Did you know that people are trying to kill you?”

Derek, at the stairwell, says, “Guys, we have to go.”

“Shit.” Stiles doesn’t waste any time. He grabs Ian by the wrist and tows him away from the murder scene. A few minutes later, they’re back in their own rooms, and Ian is cheerfully greeting Erica and Danny and the others that he’s met before. Stiles scrubs both hands through his hair. “I take it that you were wearing my face when he attacked you?”

“Mm hm,” Ian says. “He seemed _quite_ surprised when I shifted. I do love that form. Just picked it up about six months ago and it’s amazing. The claws, the tough skin, jumping power – really a marvelous creation.”

“What was it?” Erica asks.

“A velociraptor,” Stiles tells her.

“Oh my God! Let’s see it,” Erica says, and Ian obligingly shifts. His enormous toe claw clicks against the floor just like in the movie. “That is so awesome!”

Stiles shakes his head, trying not to laugh. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, as Ian shifts back. “There are a couple of things you can help us with. First of all, do you have any bird forms?”

“Surprisingly few,” Ian says. “I mean, if you’re talking about actual, real birds. I have forms that look something like birds, usually some nightmare variation of them, generally larger than the real thing. Bats, now, I can do. If you want a bat, I’m your man. Oh, and I can do a parrot.”

“A parrot?” Allison whoops with laughter. “Who’s afraid of parrots?”

“Funny story, actually,” Ian says. “I once met a man who had murdered someone, and the only witness was her parrot. And the parrot could talk. Which some parrots can do, obviously, but this one was apparently owned by someone with a wicked sense of humor. One of the things it could say was ‘I know what you did’. Which it said, just as the man was fleeing the crime scene. He spent the rest of his days terrified that the parrot would implicate him in the murder.”

“Wow,” Isaac says. “Just, wow.”

“You do meet interesting people,” Derek says, shaking his head. “What happened to him?”

“Uh, I might get in trouble for that answer,” Ian says. “As much as it would have entertained me to enact his worst nightmare, I didn’t think the police would take me seriously, so I just tormented him by impersonating the parrot every time he tried to sleep. He eventually killed himself.”

“That’s great,” Stiles says. “A talking parrot is perfect. We have a sorcerer we need to track – ”

There’s a loud knock on the door. Scott’s closest, so he opens it to find Chris there with a worried expression. “We’ve had another murder,” he says. “Could be werewolves or ghouls. Hard to tell. I’m glad you’re in here.”

“Yep,” Stiles says. “I’ve totally been in here the whole time.”

Chris rolls his eyes so hard that he probably detaches a retina. “Just stay in here. Don’t go wandering off. Okay?”

“Sure. How are things out there?”

“Stella’s back. She’s lost three guys and didn’t capture anyone, although she says they killed four ghouls, and I believe her. She doesn’t have any reason to lie. Everything else is quiet for now. No offense, but things run smoother when you’re out of the way. I’m going to try talking to those two younger Gutierrezes who you said want to get on my good side.”

“What about my dad?”

“No luck so far. Ned’s working on the electronics with his brother, so we don’t have any real way to separate them. We can try again after dinner.”

“I should get started on that,” Victoria says, getting to her feet.

“No, you stay here and rest,” Chris says. Victoria gives him a look. “That’s not a minor wound, Vicky. For today, please, just rest. We found a bunch of steaks in the freezer and I’m pretty sure any one of a dozen people downstairs can handle cooking a bunch of steaks.”

“Just as long as somebody makes me a PB&J,” Mac says from her corner.

Chris gives her a slight smile. “I think we can probably handle that. Now just stay in here, all of you. I’ll come check on you in a bit.” As he turns to go, his gaze flickers over to Ian, who’s still in Stiles’ form. He looks between Ian and Stiles, opens his mouth, and then changes his mind. He leaves the room shaking his head.

As soon as the door shuts, Stiles says, “Yeah, you really can’t walk around with my face. Not only because people are trying to kill me, although that’s a pretty good reason in and of itself. Are there any other people you can do?”

“Certainly,” Ian says, his features shifting to do an impeccable Anthony-Hopkins-as-Hannibal-Lecter.

“Ew, no!” Allison says, recoiling. “It can’t be anyone from a movie or anything like that. The point is for you not to be recognized.”

“You people have too many rules,” Ian says, rolling his eyes and shifting to another middle-aged man. “Now I’m a pedophile. Are you happy? If you don’t like this one, I could choose another. I have quite a few in my repertoire – ”

“God, you could be a one-man variety show,” Stiles says. “Call it Parrots and Pedophiles and take it on Broadway.”

“You know – ” Ian says.

“No,” five different voices interrupt.

Stiles takes that in stride. “So, we’ll have to put off looking for Blaine until tomorrow, but that might be a good thing. That’ll give him time to relax, think about the fact that we approached him as friends, that we aren’t pushing the issue. So hopefully we’ll be able to get a little closer tomorrow.”

“So what’s our game plan?” Allison asks.

“For today? Let the hunters do their thing, hope my dad can get a crack at Ned Stoddard and that Chris can get a crack at the Gutierrezes. He’s right in that us being down there will only fan the flames. Right now they’ll all be asking a million questions about how a werewolf and/or ghoul might have gotten inside. Stella will know that it might have been us, since she surely knows that guy was trying to kill me, but she won’t be able to prove it without admitting that. So we’re okay there.”

“I show up just in time for all the fun to be over?” Ian asks.

“You already velociraptored someone to death today, don’t pout,” Derek tells him. “How did  you even get here?”

“Well, I flew, of course,” Ian says.

“Even through this weather?”

“It wasn’t easy. I had to take one of my larger forms to power through the wind. So if you were thinking of using me to evacuate people from the island, I wouldn’t recommend it. People would be tossed right off my back, probably even if we tried to tie them on. I’ve actually been trying to get here since late last night, but it was only about an hour ago that the storm let up enough for me to do it.”

“Yeah, it starts at night and then slackens gradually during the day,” Stiles says. He sighs and rubs a hand over his head. “Fun jokes about pedophiles aside, it’s too likely that the hunters will notice an unfamiliar face, so when it’s time to go downstairs, you can take one of your hellaciously creepy bug forms and hide in my pocket. But until then, just do what you want,” he adds, and Ian immediately changes back into Stiles. “You’re a little bit weird, you know that?”

Ian shrugs. “Who among us can truly say they’re normal?”

“Fair point,” Stiles agrees. “Well, we’re not going anywhere for now, so let’s enjoy the down time while we have it.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Chris looks at the pile of steaks somewhat skeptically. “I thought you said we had enough for everybody,” he says, glancing at Julien and Sam, who had been dispatched to find something edible.

“We do,” Julien says. “We’ve got about sixty people here, right?”

Chris rubs a hand over his face. “Eighty, Julien. Did you forget the staff and the wounded? The kids?”

“Oh, shit,” Julien says. “Sorry, Chris.”

“It’s okay,” Chris says. “Out of sight, out of mind and all that. I mean, we can still stretch it, I think that’ll leave us with about four to six ounces per person, which is technically a single serving. But we’re going to have to find more to go with it than those loaves of bread.”

“Maybe we could help?” The voice from the doorway is a little bit timid. Chris looks over to see a young man and woman standing there, tanned-skinned and dark-haired. It’s the two youngest Gutierrez siblings, Carmen and Marcos. “We’ve gone on a lot of camping trips,” Carmen continued. “We could make rice and beans. It stretches pretty far.”

Chris is about to say yes when something occurs to him. “I don’t want to be gross, but I don’t want to sleep in a room full of fifty people who ate beans for dinner.”

Marcos gives a snort. “Maybe just rice, then. Got any canned tomatoes? Some garlic and onions, maybe?”

“I don’t know, but you’re welcome to use anything you can find,” Chris says.

The two of them head into the kitchen’s enormous pantry and start pulling things out. Chris gets started on the steaks while Julien and Sam go to check in with the others. He’s going to have to do them in batches. The kitchen’s grilling surface is large, but not ‘eighty people’ large.

Carmen and Marcos casually converse in Spanish while they’re getting things set up in their corner. Chris isn’t fluent in Spanish, but he speaks a smattering here and there, enough to know that they’re discussing the meal, not anything exciting. But then about twenty minutes later, he’s pretty sure they’re having a ‘no, you say something’, ‘no, _you_ say something’ discussion. He clears his throat and looks over. “Something you two want to tell me?”

Both of them flush a little pink, and it hits him for the first time how young they are. All the Gutierrez siblings are adults, and Francisco has to be at least fifty, but they’re a large family and Carmen and Marcos only look like they’re in their twenties. They’re probably intimidated by him, and he makes a note to try to be as approachable as possible.

“We, uh . . . we were thinking about how we could prove that Stoddard had brought the monsters to the island,” Marcos finally says.

Chris grunts a little, directing his attention to flipping steaks. “Unless we could get to the prison, I don’t think it’s possible. Besides, I’m not sure he did.”

Both of them are obviously surprised. “You don’t think so?”

“No. Whoever did it used magic, and Stoddard doesn’t work with magic users.” Chris gives a little shrug, because he’s not about to discuss Sally with these two. “It has to have been someone close to them, to have found the prison, but I don’t actually think it was him. On the other hand, he’s sure as hell content to wait around while they try to kill us.”

Carmen nods reluctantly. “That’s . . . part of what we needed to talk to you about. Stella Jones has actively encouraged people she knows to try to kill you. You and Stilinski and any of his pack that they can get. And she’s paying well. People are going to try.”

Chris nods. “I know,” he says. He gives them a sideways smile and says, “You have to get up a lot earlier than Stella Jones to get ahead of me . . . or Stiles, I’m appalled to have to say. But I do appreciate you two giving me the heads’ up. I take it that you don’t agree with her line of thinking?”

“It’s complicated,” Marcos says.

“Uh huh.” Chris dries his hands on a dishtowel. “No, it isn’t. Your family is broke. All your backers abandoned you after the prison scandal. The Order of St. James is making moves on your territory. So your family decided to come to the Conclave and see if they could suck up to anybody important and get some backing. But when the shit hit the fan, Francisco decided it would be easier just to help assassinate anyone who didn’t agree with him.”

Both Gutierrezes’ jaws are slightly ajar. “How did you . . .”

“The first part I knew going in. No offense, kids, but everyone knows you’re broke. And anyone who has connections with the Archive – which I do, because my son Jake has been memorizing the damned thing – knows about the problems you’re having on your territory. After that it’s just logic. But if you’re coming to me, it’s because you don’t like the way your brother is going about things.”

The two of them exchange a look. Marcos says, “We’re not here to make excuses for what our family did. All we can say is that we, personally, weren’t involved. As the youngest, we travel the most. Francisco doesn’t like to leave home unless he really has to anymore. Aresbeth and Cesar both have families, so does Hector. So if there’s a bunch of chupacabras messing around in the northern New Mexico desert, it’s the two of us who go.”

“It’s not that we don’t like the work,” Carmen says. “We do. It’s just that we aren’t at home as much as the others. I knew we had a prison, I captured werewolves and sent them there, so I’m not innocent. But I had no idea how bad it was. I never would have imagined there were children there, or humans.”

Chris nods. “So?”

“So . . . we don’t know what to do,” Carmen says. “Francisco might think he’s got this great plan, that he’ll wait for you to get killed and then steal your backers, but he’s taking he only chance we have at gaining some good will, getting some help, and throwing it out the window. Because you don’t seem the type to die easy.”

“Well, that’s certainly true,” Chris says. “I’ve got no intention of dying. And anyone on this island who thinks that they’re going to manage to get rid of Stiles . . . well, they’re just a fucking idiot.” He takes the first off the steaks off the grill and sets them to cool while he puts the next ones on. “But I can’t do much about your brother.”

“If we can’t make some allies at this Conclave, we’re going to lose our territory,” Marcos says.

“Yep,” Chris says. “Again. Not much I can do about it. Let’s face it, kids – nobody in your family likes me. If your two older brothers have decided that the best game plan is waiting for me to get killed, I’m sure as hell not going to be able to convince them otherwise. All I can say is, if that happens, if the Order takes over your territory, you two are welcome in mine. You seem like good hunters, so I can offer you a job. But that’s all I can offer you. Now, talk sense into your brother, and yes, maybe I can hook you guys up with some backers. But I’m not going to make any promises.”

The two of them glance at each other again, and then they nod. “Okay,” Carmen says. “Thanks.”

Chris gives them a nod and turns back to the food. “Second batch of steaks are going to be done in a few minutes. How’s the rice coming?”

“It’s basically done.”

“Okay. Let’s get some people in here to start serving.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Derek looks up as there are footsteps on the stairs. A minute later there’s a knock on the door and Sam Argent sticks his head through the door. “Hey, guys, they’re serving dinner, so you might as well come down.”

Stiles nods and springs to his feet. The pack has been moaning about varying levels of hunger for the past hour. “Hey, actually, I’m glad they sent you to get us. Are you alone?”

“Calvin’s with me,” Sam says.

Sketch pokes his head in. “Yo!”

Stiles’ mouth twitches, and he says, “That’s okay. So, Sam, I was wondering if you would do me a favor.”

Sam looks appropriately skeptical. “Maybe. What is it?”

“Well, you’re the kind of guy who can express concern about Sally without seeming like you have ulterior motives,” Stiles says. “And I don’t think Sally realizes we told you about the kind of person she is. So, I was wondering if you would gently express concern to Ned Stoddard about his daughter, and suggest that she go in the room with the kids or the wounded.”

“She’ll never bite,” Sam says. “If she’s a sorcerer, she can’t cross the mountain ash.”

“I know that, and you know that,” Stiles says, “but her father doesn’t. So when she refuses, he’s going to wonder why. It’s not exactly a smoking gun, but every scrap of evidence we can compile against her will do for a start.”

Sam nods. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Great! Let’s eat.”

Derek shakes his head a little at how upbeat Stiles is. None of the rest of the pack share his enthusiasm. The dark and the constant sound of thunder and rain are getting to all of them, himself included. Werewolves aren’t good at being cooped up. Stiles himself has been getting pretty edgy the last few hours as they stay in the hotel room that’s really only meant for two to four people, and Derek knows that his energy is mostly nervous energy. But as always, Stiles would rather be doing something.

They pack head downstairs, and they stay clumped together in the hallway, which is almost pitch black. It’s only about six PM, but the storm has kept the sky dark almost all day, and there’s only one window at the end of the hallway. Scott and Allison are supporting Victoria, and the rest of the wolves are moving around her almost in a ring. Derek itches to take his wolf form, not only for the heightened senses but just for the comfort value.

They come out of the stairwell to find that the lodge’s main room, at least, is somewhat more cheery. The fire has been built up high, and several lanterns are placed at varying intervals. The sky might be dim, but with the enormous glass doors overlooking the ocean, there’s still some light coming in from outside.

People are bustling around in every direction, carrying bowls and plates. Derek doesn’t see the alpha pack anywhere, and a brief inquiry to Tom reveals that they’ve decided to stay upstairs with Janea and her pack. There’s still some of the soup Stiles had made, and they’ll eat that. Dinner for the rest of them is served in batches, and although Derek would be willing to eat last, Stiles thrusts a plate at him, so he starts eating. The rice is good, but spicy, so much so that his mouth starts to go numb as soon as he starts eating it. Several of the pack seem to agree, grimacing or fanning their mouths. Derek sees Lydia wrinkle her nose and pass the bowl to Boyd, who seems to be enjoying it. He passes her part of his steak in return.

It’s not until Sketch, who’s eaten both his bowl and Wednesday’s, starts to rub his chest and have trouble breathing that Derek figures out what’s going on. With absolutely zero time for subtlety, he leaps to his feet and shouts, “Everyone stop eating, _now_!”

Several people surprised noises and a few people drop their spoons. Stiles looks up at Derek with his mouth half-open and full of rice, which is very unattractive.

“Wolfsbane,” Derek says. “In the rice. It’s so spicy that we didn’t notice.”

Stiles spits the rice back into the bowl.

“Jesus Christ,” Scott says. “That’ll poison everyone here.”

Everyone looks down at their bowl. Chris says, “I didn’t think it was that spicy. I guess your mouth is going numb, right? And that’s the wolfsbane, not the spices. Which means there’s probably not enough in it to affect the humans.”

Stiles nods. “Put a teaspoon in a huge batch of rice and the humans will be fine, but it’ll hit the werewolves something fierce. On the upside, it’s probably not enough to kill any of us, not unless we ate a lot of it.”

Sketch looks down at his second empty bowl and wheezes for breath. “Uh . . .”

Wednesday rubs his back and then gets to her feet, eyes glittering with rage. “Who made the rice?”

“Uh, we d-did, but . . .” Carmen Gutierrez starts to stammer under Wednesday’s murderous gaze. “But we didn’t poison it, I swear! We didn’t even make it extra spicy!”

“Jesus,” Stiles mutters. Derek can see what he’s thinking, about how the Gutierrez family might not be as stupid as they thought. If they ‘allowed’ Yasmin and Erica to overhear their conversation. If they had buttered up Chris to get the opportunity to poison the werewolves. But then Stiles shakes his head, decisively. For whatever reason, he’s come to the conclusion that that’s not correct. “Chris, were there a lot of people in and out of the kitchen?”

Chris nods. “Yeah. They made the rice, but then a bunch of people helped serve, and even if I pointed all of them out, it would have been easy for somebody else to slip in while we were doing that.”

“Then there might not be any way to find out.” Stiles lets out a breath. “For now, I have to focus on my pack. I’ll leave any further investigation to you.”

It’s not as bad as it could be. Derek had figured out what was going on pretty early, and half of the pack had only eaten a few bites of the rice. Boyd is the worst off after Sketch; he ate his own bowl and about half of Lydia’s. Mac hadn’t eaten any because it had been made with beef broth, and Danny and Isaac hadn’t been served yet. Scott is having the most trouble breathing, probably because the wolfsbane is exacerbating his asthma.

“Is there some kind of remedy?” Allison asks, smoothing down Scott’s hair and holding his hand. “I mean, you burn wolfsbane out when it’s on the outside. Is there a way to do that after ingestion?”

“Jesus, I don’t know, and without checking with Deaton, I wouldn’t feel comfortable trying it,” Stiles says.

Sketch coughs, heaves for breath, and then snickers. “What are you gonna do, shove a blowtorch up my butt?” he asks, and several of the other wolves laugh as well.

Wednesday gives the pack a pleasant, terrifying smile and says, “I’m going to leave him with you while I go torture everyone who might have been involved with this to find out who was responsible.”

“Godspeed,” Stiles tells her, and she walks away. Sketch looks after her adoringly, and then throws up on the floor. Stiles glances at him and says, “Gross as that is, it’s not a bad idea. Anyone who ate more than a few mouthfuls, go make yourself puke.”

Boyd groans and gets to his feet. He pulls Scott up with him, and then together they get Erica on her feet and head for the bathroom. Danny and Isaac go along to make sure nobody bothers them. When they come back, they’ve got several pitchers of water with them. “Gotta flush it out,” Scott says, gulping some of the water down and handing a pitcher to Sketch.

“Saline flush?” Stiles suggests, grinning despite himself. “Will I have to put a tube up your dick?”

Scott spits water at him. Lydia and Allison both giggle.

Derek shakes his head at their antics and rubs his hand absently at his aching chest. “Why do you think it wasn’t the Gutierrezes?”

Stiles glances over. “Oh, well. We’re thinking, maybe it was all a clever ruse, right? Maybe they had that conversation knowing that Erica and Yas would overhear. Maybe they talked to Chris about being on our side to deflect suspicion. Which would be very smart. And I’m not saying they’re not capable of being that smart. But this,” he continues, waving a hand around the room, “was not smart. Dumping some wolfsbane in the rice, risking poisoning a bunch of hunters when the situation is already dangerous, and hoping it’s enough to kill some werewolves? That’s stupid. Especially when you consider that it won’t really hurt _me_ more than the average human.”

“Fair,” Scott wheezes.

“So what are you thinking?” Allison asks. “One of Stella’s guys?”

“Yeah, one of the freelancers after the bounty,” Stiles says. “Impossible to figure out which one unless someone actually saw them do it. Which, if anyone did, they clearly aren’t going to speak up.” He shakes his head. “We’re just lucky that Derek caught on before anyone had eaten much,” he adds, and squeezes Derek’s hand.

“We’re less lucky that now we hardly have anything to eat,” Isaac says. “I don’t know about anyone else here, but I don’t consider four ounces of steak to be a meal.”

“Yeah. What a waste. Although,” Derek says dryly, “I notice that some of the humans have gone back to eating it now, presumably on the assumption that there’s not enough in it to hurt them.” He sprawls backwards, laying his head in Stiles’ lap. Pain is starting to radiate through his chest. Stiles strokes his hair absently.

“It’s not like you to be so mellow about this,” Erica says, groaning as she stretches out beside Derek.

“Hey, I’m very mellow,” Stiles says, and several people snort. “No, you’re right. I’m trying to . . . keep it locked down. The situation is already so tense. If I let my own temper get out of hand, bad things will happen. At least Wednesday is on the rampage. We’ll see what she digs up.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	9. Chapter 9

 

What Wednesday digs up is a lot of very unhappy people, but beyond narrowing it down to the handful of people that any of them could have narrowed it down to, she doesn’t get anywhere. Although she personally would be happy to torture them into a confession, she reluctantly agrees that it’s probably not a good idea.

The wolves are sprawled out in varying states of misery. Stiles has a quiet word with Chris about who’s going to be on watch tonight. He wants at least one of his pack on each shift, and fortunately enough of them are okay that it’ll be possible. When the alpha pack come downstairs, Cora nearly flips her shit upon finding out that her brother was poisoned, snarls a lot at the Gutierrez siblings, and wraps herself around Derek like a limpet, daring anyone to come near. Derek’s protests that he only ate a little go completely ignored.

“You didn’t eat down here,” Stella sneers at them. “Maybe you’re the one who poisoned the rice, to frame one of us.”

Justin gives her a look like she’s from another planet and says to the room at large, “Is she okay?”

Several people snigger. Nobody else seems to think Stella’s accusation is worth their time.

It’s a restless night for all of them. Stiles tosses and turns and feels the discomfort of the other wolves down the pack bond like he’s sick himself. He sits up occasionally and watches the people who are still awake move around, talking quietly amongst themselves. He sees Sam go over and talk to Ned Stoddard at one point, and signals Lydia to go see if she can overhear. Ned then heads over to where Sally is sprawled out.

Lydia keeps her distance, but comes over to report to Stiles a few minutes later. “Sally says she has to learn to help out sometime,” she says, somewhat sourly. “Her father seemed a little puzzled but didn’t push the issue.”

“Okay.” Stiles sighs. “That’s about what I expected she’d do. But Peter was right. It’s at least a red flag we can use later.”

“Get some sleep,” Lydia tells him.

“I wish.”

“Recite primes,” she says. “Or Fibonacci. Always works wonders for me.”

“I’ll give it a whirl.”

He ends up doing multiplication tables (since he can’t do primes past a hundred anyway) and eventually drifts into a doze.

Sometime later, he’s jolted awake by screaming. It doesn’t sound like terrified screaming, like ‘more dead bodies’ screaming. It sounds like a combination of shock and rage. He claws his way upwards and looks around wildly. The room is well lit; it’s well into morning. He must have finally fallen asleep, and the pack clearly hadn’t wanted to wake him.

“Calm down and tell us what’s wrong!” someone is shouting, and then someone else very clearly says, “Holy shit!”

“The fuck?” Stiles says, pushing his hands through his hair and struggling back to consciousness. By the time he manages to get his shit together and get to his feet, there’s a group of werewolves that have been ringed in and surrounded by a bunch of hunters with a variety of firearms. It’s a _large_ group of werewolves, too. There are at least two dozen of them, and they all look extremely upset.

Justin’s up now, too, and his jaw is gaping rather comically, as a short whirlwind of fury and teeth pushes her way out of the werewolf crowd. “What did you do?” she screams at the alpha, and it takes Stiles a minute to realize that he knows her. It’s Agnes St. James, complete with werewolf fangs and ridiculous sideburns.

“Oh my God!” Stiles says, nearly falling backwards on his butt out of surprise. He looks through the snarling crowd and sees Stella Jones, Francisco Gutierrez – everyone who’s been shouting at him the past three days suddenly has fangs. Surprisingly, Jim Stoddard doesn’t. Stiles isn’t sure what that means, but he’s too stunned to figure it out at the moment.

“What the shit!” Justin agrees. “I didn’t touch you, lady, nobody touched you!”

“Well, somebody did something!” Even Ned Stoddard sounds pretty upset, and Stiles catches a glimpse of Sally at his elbow. She looks shocked and distressed, although she’s notably without fangs, but when she sees Stiles watching her, she throws him a quick wink.

“How dare you?” Stella roars at Justin, an actual werewolf snarl bubbling to her lips. “Which one of you curs did this?”

“Nobody touched you!” Justin reiterates, although he’s so surprised that his words don’t have the same punch they did the day before.

“Everybody calm down!” Chris Argent wades into the crowd. “Put your guns down, for God’s sake. These people are our allies; they aren’t going to attack us just because they’re suddenly furry. Let’s all take a deep breath and figure out what happened.”

“What happened is that son of a bitch and his pack of mongrels turned us!” Agnes shouts.

“Even discounting the ‘why would I want to do that’ aspect,” Justin says, “ _how_ would I have done it? You think I just snuck around through the blankets giving people love nips without anybody noticing or waking up?”

“You did it somehow!” Agnes is shrieking, well and truly losing control.

“If I may,” Ravinder intervenes, “where is your bite wound?”

“Well - I - ”

Several of the new werewolves are patting themselves down, trying to find the injury. Carmen Gutierrez is the first to say, “I don’t have one,” and other people echo her with a murmur.

“A werewolf bite takes twenty-four hours to heal,” Ravinder says, “therefore, what has been done must be a result of magic, not any of the alphas here.”

“But that’s _impossible_ ,” Stella shouts. “We all have protection spells, and even if one or two of them were faulty, it wouldn’t have been enough to get all of us, and why the hell are all of them fine?” she adds, gesturing viciously to where Chris and Julien are standing with Mikael. Wednesday is sitting in Sketch’s lap, and it looks like she’s enjoying the show.

“That’s actually a good question,” Stiles says, frowning. “It looks like the people who have been affected are only the ones who, er, have a problem with werewolves.” Which makes it even more confusing that Jim Stoddard still seems to be human.

“Very tactful,” his father says, somewhat amused.

Ned Stoddard suddenly starts swearing. “The trickster.”

“The _trickster_?” Chris asks.

“You had a _trickster_?” Vanessa echoes. “You had a trickster and you _didn’t tell us_?”

“You didn’t tell them?” Ned turns to look at his brother and finally loses his temper. “What the hell is wrong with you, Jim? As if it isn’t bad enough that our prison had a breach, why do you keep withholding information from them? The alphas were one thing, but you didn’t think to mention that we had a small time _god_ in holding?”

“A god?” Tom asks, alarmed.

“Well, more of a demigod,” Vanessa says, and rubs both hands over her face, “as if that makes a difference, practically speaking.”

“Practically speaking, that’s why I didn’t mention it,” Jim snaps. “It’s not as if any of us could have done anything about it!”

“Somebody fill me in,” Tom says.

Vanessa lets out a breath. “A trickster spirit is . . . nobody’s sure exactly what they are, to be honest. Pretty much every culture has a variation of them. Loki, from Norse mythology, is the most famous. There are coyotes in Native American legends, kitsune and tanuki in Japanese, Anansi in Africa . . . they range from wise to foolish, benevolent to malicious.”

“And a protection spell wouldn’t stop one from doing . . . this?” Tom asks, gesturing to the crowd.

“Most trickster spirits think of themselves as teachers,” Vanessa says. “They like to teach people lessons. And if they’re on the job, so to speak . . . their power is pretty much limitless. They can do whatever they want, if it’s to teach a lesson.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tom mutters. He glances at Stiles, who pinches the bridge of his nose. At least now they know what Sally’s special surprise was.

“General consensus is that they probably originated in Faerie,” Wednesday says. “But they don’t act like a lot of creatures among the Fae. They don’t care about bargains, they don’t play by Faerie rules. Some people theorize that they’re the offspring of Faerie and demons, even though nobody really knows how that would even _work_ , or that they come from some other plane of existence altogether. The fact of the matter is, nobody really knows a damned thing about one, and you certainly can’t stop them. Which brings me to ask how you even caught it to begin with?”

“I don’t know,” Ned says. “My mother did, almost twenty years ago.”

“It’s been in your prison for twenty years?” Cora says. “Well, great, at least it won’t be pissed off or anything.”

Ned sighs. “We think it was . . . dormant. We surrounded it with mountain ash, salt, and iron, but it never seemed to try to escape.”

“Well, trickster spirits have done weirder things than ‘I think I’ll settle down and nap for a couple decades’,” Vanessa says. “It was probably waiting for the perfect opportunity to teach you all the best lesson it could.”

“Stop talking about it and fix this shit!” Francisco Gutierrez snarls.

It’s unfortunate for everyone that he’s not used to the fangs. They cause a rather dramatic slur to his speech, and the sight of a full grown man growling out ‘fix thith thit!’ causes several people to break out into laughter. A little clump of them are standing far too close to him, and it’s a cluster of giggling girls: Lydia, Erica, and Annika.

Francisco leaps for them with his claws out, and all of them are taken off guard. He smashes into them full force, and there’s just enough time for Lydia to shove the less-durable Annika behind her and onto the floor before Gutierrez grabs the redhead by the throat and tosses her. Isaac jumps to break her fall, and they tumble over a sofa and hit the floor together.

“Hey!” There’s a huge gust of freezing cold wind. Francisco stumbles backwards, but then the wind abruptly dies. Stiles’ gaze darts over to Sally, who just smiles back at him, looking serene. Francisco recovers his feet and lunges forward again, but then there’s a twang and an arrow hits him in the shoulder. He roars in pain and rips it out, turning towards where Allison is standing on a table.

“Cut it out!” Justin shouts, and Francisco turns to snarl at him. Justin snarls back, and Francisco, surprisingly, backs down. Justin is standing there with his eyes flashing crimson, and the alpha power that rolls through the room is enough to chasten the most unwilling of werewolves.

“You okay?” Erica asks, helping Annika to her feet, and she nods but then gives a hiss of pain.

“What’s wrong?” Mikael demands.

“Nothing, I just bruised my shoulder a bit, I think,” Annika says, rubbing at it gingerly.

“Sorry,” Lydia says, and Annika waves her off.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Mikael asks Francisco. “Attacking a bunch of teenaged girls? I get that you’re upset about what the trickster did, but – ”

“Attacking people is what werewolves do!” Agnes sneers. “Surely if you can excuse that in all your ‘allies’, you won’t hold it against him.”

Stiles throws his hands up in the air and declares, “Oh my God!”

“For God’s sake, Agnes,” Vanessa agrees. “You know as well as I do that there are packs, families of werewolves living all over the country that hunters don’t even know about, because they don’t hurt people. Wyoming alone has over a dozen of ‘em. Winchester land has at least fifty. There are packs all over Montana and the Dakotas – ”

“No surprise when Aronsson’s running the show,” Jim says with a roll of his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mikael asks.

“You know damn well what it means,” Jim retorts.

“Okay, then say it to my face,” Mikael says.

“I just think that it’s rich that we’re supposed to look at you as some sort of successful role model when you couldn’t even keep your son alive!”

“How _dare_ you – ” Mikael starts, but that’s as far as he gets before Annika loses her shit. She grabs a stack of books off an end table and starts chucking them at Jim with enough force that he has to raise his hands to protect his face and takes several steps backwards.

“Do not! Ever! Talk about! My! Brother!” she screams, throwing a book with each word. “My brother fucked up and he was fucked up and don’t you ever! Ever! Imply that it was my father’s fault that Jonas went – that Jonas – ” She chokes on the words but then starts screaming again. “I don’t care how fucking special you think you are, you leave my family out of this or I swear to God I will beat you to death with my bare hands, is that fucking clear?!”

“Jesus Christ, you little psycho,” Jim swears, trying to wipe the blood off his face.

It looks like Annika might go off again, but Mikael gets her in a hug from behind, restraining her gently. “Hey,” he says. “Anni, it’s okay. You’re okay. Just let it go. He’s not worth it.” He lifts her up off her feet and turns them around so she isn’t looking at him anymore. “You’re okay, Annika.”

Annika bursts into messy tears. Mikael picks her up entirely and carries her out of the room.

Chris rubs both hands over his face. “You know, Gutierrez, I think we _were_ trying to fix it before you lost your temper, but that probably makes no difference to you.”

“Okay, let’s be logical about this,” Justin says, taking control of the situation. “We’re pretty sure that the trickster is trying to teach a lesson, well, the only lesson I can think of that would involve turning a bunch of bigots into werewolves is to teach them not to be bigoted.”

“Listen to me, you piece of shit – ” Stella says.

Justin talks right over her. “So probably the general idea that we’re trying to get across here is that werewolves aren’t really that different from humans. Okay. So I want all of you guys who have become werewolves to just stop and think for a minute about how you feel. And then think about how you normally feel. And I want you to rate, on a scale of one to ten, how different from your usual self you feel like. One being that you’re fine, ten being the apocalypse. Okay?”

Some of the hunters look pissed off to be given orders by a werewolf, but none of them have any better ideas. And, somewhat hilariously to Stiles, they’re all following Justin’s commands simply because he’s an alpha, and they’re not.

“Okay, so, anyone who rated over five, go on this side of the room,” Justin says, “and anyone who was five and under, over here.”

It takes the hunters a few minutes to sort themselves out. There are eight hunters in the ‘five and under’ category and about a dozen over five.

“Cool,” Justin says, and addresses the five and unders. “Okay, raise your hand if your score was five and under,” he says, and all their hands go up. “Four or under,” he says, and two hands drop. “Three or under,” and three more hands drop, “two or under,” and he’s left with one hand still in the air. It’s Carmen Gutierrez. “So you don’t seem all that bothered by this. You wanna tell the others why not?”

“Well, it’s not that I’m not _bothered_ ,” Carmen says. “I – I’m furious, and I’m upset, and it’s been a long few days for everyone, so I’m also tired, and hungry, for that matter. But you didn’t ask us to rate how bothered we were, you said to rate how _different_ we were. And I thought, okay, obviously I’m having a lot of strong emotions right now, and maybe they’re stronger than they would be on a normal day, but this isn’t a normal day for a werewolf _or_ a human. And actually I was thinking – I’ve felt like this before, at times when I was really upset about something, like when my boyfriend broke up with me the day after my grandmother died, or when I lost a friend on a hunt. Obviously I’m upset, but I don’t really think I’m _that_ much more upset than I would be if I were still human.”

“Excellent point,” Justin says. “I bet a lot of you are thinking about how upset you are, and thinking you feel upset because you’re a werewolf, without taking into account that maybe you’re upset because you’re having a shitty week. So, I would like you all to revise your number with that in mind.”

There are several grumbles and even some snarling, but he seems to have gotten the point across.

“The point is – and correct me if I’m wrong – most of you don’t seem compelled to leap into a homicidal rage or start humping the nearest piece of furniture,” Justin says, and several people start giggling. “And you know, guys, I wasn’t born a werewolf. We could have a long discussion of how several of the werewolves in this room _know_ what it’s like to be turned without consent, and how to have to deal with the changes. And we could have an even longer discussion of how unfair it is that you guys hold us _responsible_ for those changes even when we didn’t ask for them, but that’s a separate issue so let’s just put that aside for now.”

“Some of us are clearly feeling the homicidal rage,” one of the hunters says, casting a significant look at Francisco Gutierrez.

“Yeah, uh, do the rest of you _really_ want to be compared to _that guy_?” Justin asks, and there are several more giggles and some muted snarling. “Pretty sure that he’s like that every day. So I feel like everyone should just ignore him. Permanently.”

“I’m definitely not feeling any homicidal rage,” Carmen says. “I mean, yeah, I feel a little different? But I don’t think it’s the sort of thing that would change the, the _core_ of me, you know what I’m saying? It would just take a little getting used to.”

As she’s talking, her face is shifting. She doesn’t seem to notice, but a few moments later, she’s standing there one hundred percent human and a little surprised.

Justin lifts his hands and says, “Ta da!”

Several people snicker. There’s a round of conversation amongst some of the werewolves, most of the ones who had rated themselves lower. About five minutes later, everyone in the ‘five and under’ category has managed to convince themselves that it isn’t the apocalypse, and has accordingly changed back. There are still about a dozen werewolves left, and Stiles is pretty sure that they’re going to be tougher nuts to crack. He’s still thinking about Jim Stoddard, but now that he knows the purpose of a trickster, he thinks he understands. Jim Stoddard isn’t a believer, the way Stella Jones and Agnes St. James are. He doesn’t _really_ think that werewolves are inhuman monsters. He just likes to hunt. Likes to kill. Whether werewolves are still human at their core makes no difference to him. It makes Stiles think of Kate Argent, and he shudders a little.

“Let’s take a break,” Chris says. “Nobody’s going to be able to do much with them when they’re all riled up. Let’s get them separated, have some down time. I think that will help more than continuing to press the point.”

Stiles agrees. It’s late morning now, and to be technical, there’s no rush in getting any of the new werewolves shifted back. Being werewolves isn’t _hurting_ them, so if it takes them a few days to figure out that it isn’t the end of the world, they’ll live. The Sally Stoddard special could have done a lot worse.

Of course, none of them are happy to hear that. There’s a lot of shouting and nasty words, but eventually cooler heads prevail. They’re going to need to keep everyone occupied, obviously, so Stiles suggests that they have one of the actual lectures that they had planned to have in the first place. Something boring, he suggests, so Julien gets up and starts talking about finances and weapons acquisition and under-the-table taxes.

It works like a dream. Everyone settles down, and while there are still some suspicious side-eyes and occasional histrionics, it keeps things from boiling over again. When Julien is done, Chris and Tom talk about how to deal with law enforcement. Slowly, the morning slides into afternoon.

Stiles tunes out what he already knows and starts thinking about the next step. The trickster has provided a grand distraction, and he’s thinking about what Peter had said earlier. How can he focus on the monsters when he doesn’t even know who half of them are? He _has_ to focus on Sally. None of them can get off this island until he deals with Sally. Eventually, he supposes, they’ll kill all the different supernatural creatures that have been brought here to kill them. And then the hunters will keep fighting with each other, and their supplies will dwindle and the isolation will make their skin crawl until they start killing each other.

Regardless of ghouls and werewolves and sorcerers, they have to get off this island.

Sally is the one fueling the storm. Deal with Sally, and they can have daylight and good weather to kill off any remaining ghouls, deal with everyone else accordingly, and get back to the mainland.

But it’s so much easier said than done. Sally has been right by her father or her uncle this entire time. They can’t get to her without being seen.

The obvious answer to that problem is to expose her for who she really is. Except that Stiles isn’t actually sure whether or not that will solve anything. Would her father turn on her for that? How would Sally react? If he actually exposed her, she might just blow up everyone on the island out of sheer pique.

He needs Deaton. Deaton is the only one who might be able to contain Sally if she got out of hand. Even Jackson and Marzanna have never gotten into a knockdown drag-out with Sally, and so he has no idea how that might go. But Stiles is pretty sure that Deaton and Jackson together could get the upper hand. And he can’t get Deaton until he can figure out what’s up with Blaine Acklin, and nobody’s going to let him wander off to try to capture a sorcerer while a bunch of hunters are still werewolves and still freaking out about it.

“What about Ian?” Peter asks. “He seems like he could be of some use. He could get to Sally without anyone realizing it.”

“Even if Ian could waltz right up to Sally and kill her,” Stiles replies, being careful not to speak out loud, “it could still cause a riot. It would still be blamed on me.”

Peter shrugs. “And when the storm abruptly dissipates? That won’t clue anyone in to her real nature?”

“We don’t even know that it would,” Stiles says. “She spins it up at night but it seems self-sustaining during the day. So sure, when the storm blew out overnight, they might get the picture, but I very well might be dead by then.”

“So wound her rather than killing her,” Peter says. “Render her unable to do magic. You could probably stay alive during the day and then you’d have the lack of storm the next morning to prove your point.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Yeah, maybe. Okay. I’ll talk to Ian.”

He opens his eyes and looks around to see Derek give him a questioning look. Chris is still talking to a mostly interested audience. Stiles stretches and fakes a yawn, then says in a low voice, “I’m going to go use the bathroom real quick. Derek, you can come along if you want. Ian, you’d better still be in my pocket.”

With that, he gets to his feet and heads out of the room with Derek in tow. He checks the bathroom to make sure it’s empty, then says, “Ian?”

One minute he’s not there; the next minute he is, wearing Stiles’ face and red hoodie and a smile. “At your service.”

Stiles gives a snort. “Okay. I want to see if we can get Sally out of commission. Then we can maybe persuade her father to stick her in the mountain ash circle for tonight and see about getting out of this place. Have you got any forms that are poisonous?”

“Oh, loads,” Ian says.

“How about that are poisonous and inconspicuous?”

Ian has to think about that for a minute. “Two. One spider and one scorpion.”

“Super,” Stiles says. “Here’s the plan. You’re going to poison the shit out of her and then run the fuck away before she can figure out what bit and/or stung her.”

Ian is frowning faintly. “Sally is the woman who was at the facility. The psycho who doesn’t have any fear.”

“Yep, that’s her.”

“Mm.” Ian considers a moment. “Then I have to respectfully decline.”

Stiles literally face-palms, he’s so frustrated. “You don’t have to worry about taking a shape to scare _her_ , just the one that can poison her. She wouldn’t dare make any sort of move in the room full of hunters anyway.”

“You know, I don’t have many rules, Stiles,” Ian says. “But I don’t fuck with people who aren’t afraid of anything. You want her poisoned, you’re going to have to do it yourself.”

Stiles grits his teeth. He’s trying to think of some sort of convincing argument when there’s a sudden crash and people shouting from the other room. “Son of a bitch, what _now_?”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	10. Chapter 10

 

Chaos has erupted in the main lobby, in the form of an enormous brawl. Stiles isn’t even sure who’s involved. He can’t recognize most of the werewolves. He barely knew all the hunters in their human forms; add a bunch of sideburns and missing eyebrows and he’s got no chance. It doesn’t surprise him immensely that a fight broke out, given the relative attitudes and behavior of the hunters thus far.

Because of that, it takes him a minute to realize that things are worse than they look. Two of the hunter/werewolves are on the floor in pools of blood with their throats torn out. He stares at them, uncomprehending. Hunters wouldn’t do that to each other, but if the werewolves had assaulted each other, they would heal. The only way that would happen would be if there was –

“Up there!” somebody shouts, and Stiles’ gaze tracks upwards to the red-eyed man who has scaled the wall and is using it as a jumping off point. Several gunshots go off, and he jerks in the air mid-leap, but lands on his feet regardless. Another two werewolves jump on him, and he throws them off with a grunt of effort.

Stiles scans the rest of the group to see that they’ve formed a perimeter and have their guns up, but it’s obvious that they don’t want to shoot because they can’t tell who’s who. Kaleb and his pack have exploited the confusion beautifully.

It doesn’t take long for one of the hunters to figure out what to do, but the moments are costly. There are at least half a dozen bodies on the floor before every werewolf in the room suddenly starts to clutch at their ears and writhe. Stiles has no idea why, but his pack is affected, too, and he knows that a lot of hunters use high-pitched sonic frequencies to hurt werewolves. He doesn’t like his pack being hurt, but it’s a good strategy. Immobilize everybody, _then_ worry about who’s who.

The plan is obvious, and the enemy werewolves quickly begin to evacuate. They’re staggering, but still moving, most of them heading out the windows and into the rain. Several of them get shot on the way out, but Stiles doubts that the hunters had time to load up with wolfsbane bullets.

“On the stairs!” somebody shouts, and Stiles looks over to see two werewolves grappling there. One of them jerks backwards as blood goes everywhere, and tumbles down the stairs. The other heads up, but moments later there’s a sharp twang, and he goes down with an arrow in his throat. Just before he can pull it out, the head of the arrow explodes, taking his head clean off his shoulders.

Several people run over to the werewolf who fell down the stairs. Most of the werewolves are straightening up, shaking their heads as if to get the last of the sound out of their head. Stiles checks quickly on his pack and finds that they’re fine, having stayed well clear of the fighting.

“Medic!” someone shouts, and Scott is already jogging over towards the stairs. Stiles tags along, wanting to watch his back if he’s going into the thick of the hunters. He sees that the bleeding woman on the floor is Agnes St. James, still in her werewolf form. Her injuries are severe enough to be fatal; there are huge gashes across her chest and abdomen.

Scott takes this in quickly and says, “She should be able to heal. That other werewolf wasn’t their alpha.”

Agnes wheezes something that nobody can quite make out.

“Maybe she doesn’t know how?” Tom suggests.

Several of the new werewolves who had been involved in the fight look down at their bodies, and one of them says, “I didn’t know how either, but it still happened.”

“Won’t . . .” Agnes grits out.

“She’s refusing to heal,” Derek says, his face set in an expression that’s almost angry.

“Is that possible?” several people ask at once.

Derek nods. “Healing has a psychogenic component. It’s happened before, if a werewolf is feeling guilt over their injuries. Or healing can be suppressed if you’re trying to pass for human in public. Most werewolves know how to do it.”

“Why would she do that?” Angela Peretti asks, dumbfounded.

“Because she doesn’t want to be a werewolf,” Stiles says, shaking his head.

Scott is still kneeling beside her, his pants slowly soaking through with blood. “Someone pass me a first aid kit.”

Agnes weakly slaps his hands away and bares her teeth at him. “Don’t . . . touch me . . . monster!”

“Someone pin her arms down,” Scott says, not missing a beat as he continues to tend her wounds. Derek kneels down beside them and presses Agnes’ wrists into the floor. She snarls weakly, her body shuddering. Stiles watches in silence as Scott works, but it’s clearly a battle he’s losing. Blood is already soaking through the new bandages.

“Come on, just heal,” Stiles says. “You can’t prove us wrong if you’re dead, right?”

Agnes snarls again. “I won’t . . . use . . . any part of this . . . monster inside me . . .”

Her body shudders, and blood begins to run down her chin. Scott swears under his breath, and his hands move quickly, but a bare moment later, she’s gone still. Scott tosses aside a piece of bloody cloth and just sits for a moment before he looks up at Stiles. “Help me up, would you?” he asks, and Stiles gets an arm around him and gets him on his feet.

Vanessa moves to cover the body. Justin and Ravinder are moving among the hunter/werewolves, talking to them quietly. Several of them seem to be changing back now. Stiles assumes that having been in combat, they’ve realized that the werewolf instincts aren’t completely overwhelming. One of them is Ned Stoddard, who seems shaken but otherwise okay.

Besides Agnes, there are three dead hunters and three dead werewolves from Kaleb’s pack. A small group of people is designated to bring their bodies down to their makeshift morgue.

“How did the werewolves even get in?” Derek asks, directing the question towards Chris.

Chris shrugs wearily. “We haven’t bothered with a perimeter patrol in days, because we didn’t want people out on their own. It would have been easy for them to sneak inside and hole up somewhere, waiting for an ideal time to attack.”

“Better sweep the lodge again,” Vanessa says. “Clear out any stragglers.”

Chris nods. “We should check on the kids and the injured, too. Let’s split into teams. Stiles, you stay here. If any hunters are killed during the sweep, I want it to be obvious that nobody in your pack or the alpha pack is responsible.”

“No problem,” Stiles says. Maybe he can get a chance at Sally while the adults are gone. He gathers the pack in a loose circle. A few minutes later, the adults have split into groups and ventured out into the lodge. Stiles watches the rain lash angrily at the windows, deep in thought.

He’s startled when Justin drops down next to him with a groan. The rest of the alpha pack follows, inserting themselves into the circle at various points. Ethan drapes himself over Danny; Cora hovers around Derek and scowls at everybody. Ravinder and Mei are conspicuously absent; Chris’ orders about the alpha pack staying in the lodge’s main rooms were superseded by their bodyguard duty. Tom had gone to check on the kids along with Mikael, and Ravinder and Mei had tagged along. “These people are insane,” Justin declares. “The fuck did you get me into, Stiles?”

Stiles gives a one-shouldered shrug. “My life.”

Justin snorts. “Well, we’ve got four of ‘em left, including that loud asshole who’s gonna get it in the face if he doesn’t let up soon and that woman who’s pissed off about absolutely everything. They’ve all decided that they’d rather find the trickster and try to convince it to change them back rather than face up to facts.”

Stiles looks over at where Francisco and Stella are having an animated conversation, and can’t help but roll his eyes. “I didn’t think tricksters worked that way.”

“They don’t,” Derek says.

“Actually, the black chick – what’s her name, Stella?” Justin asks, and Stiles nods. “I think the fight shook her up pretty bad. She was hurt, but she sure as hell didn’t let her inner prejudices stop her from healing. What happened with Agnes seems to have messed with her head.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” Allison asks, looking over at Stella with narrowed eyes.

“Not sure yet.”

Yasmin looks up and says, “I think it’ll be good in the long term. I mean, I think she thinks that Agnes was stupid, and so at the very least, the whole ‘kill yourself if you get turned’ thing looks kind of ridiculous in retrospect.”

“I’ll take it,” Stiles says cheerfully. He looks around again as the group of hunter/werewolves troop out of the lodge’s main room and notices that Sally’s gone. “Sally left with her dad, huh?”

Lydia nods. “I heard them talking about it. I guess Ned and Vanessa went to go check on the injured, and Sally decided to tag along. She’s not leaving his sight.”

“Maybe Ned wanted another chance to try to convince her to take shelter with them,” Scott suggests.

“Yeah, maybe,” Stiles says. “Hey, what time is it, three-ish? Somebody had better get started on dinner, and since all the hunters are occupied, I guess that someone is me. Who wants to tag along?”

Derek does, of course, so Cora says she’ll go with them too. Boyd and Isaac are both hungry, so they decide to go on the hopes that they’ll find something to snack on.

When they get ready to leave, Jackson stands up and says, “I need to go check on Alan.”

“You shouldn’t be in the lodge by yourself,” Danny says, and Jackson scoffs. “Come on, man, you can defend yourself but that doesn’t mean one of these nutjobs won’t shoot you for doing it. Ethan and I will go with you.”

“You just want some privacy so you can get your freak on,” Jackson says.

“What’s your point?” Danny asks, and everyone laughs.

Stiles shakes his head a little. “Be careful, guys. If any of you need me, come get me, but travel in pairs, capisce?”

“Sir, yes sir,” Erica says, with a sloppy salute.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Come evening, four hunters are still werewolves, and they’re so pissed off about it that they can barely see straight. Stiles isn’t overflowing with sympathy, and he’s annoyed that everyone’s walking on eggshells around them, but there isn’t much he can do about it. He’s spent most of his time in the kitchen trying to talk Ian into poisoning Sally, and getting nowhere. Ian is firmly, stalwartly, refusing to go anywhere near her. And to be fair, just his presence on the island is doing Stiles a huge favor. He can hardly push for more. Ian is happy to hang around as long as he might get to have fun, but he has no reason to take risks for Stiles.

“There’s got to be some way to keep her from doing magic,” Derek says. “Maybe we can slip some mistletoe into her food.”

“I can’t slip anything into her food because she’s not eating anything we provide,” Stiles says.

“So where’s she getting her food?” Boyd asks. “Maybe we can find that and poison that.”

“That’s a good question, actually,” Stiles says, frowning. “She doesn’t seem to come and go from the main room a lot, but it’s not like she’s got a big box of granola bars with her. She must eat at night, when she leaves to spin up the storm.”

“This lodge is way too big to search the entire thing to figure out where her stuff is,” Isaac says. “It must be hidden pretty well, like under the floor or something, or else the hunters would have found it and wondered what the hell it was doing there.”

Stiles nods. “Yeah, that’s a dead end.”

“Maybe we can slip some mistletoe under her pillow,” Derek says. “It works by proximity, just like wolfsbane does for us.”

“I don’t think we could do that without anyone noticing,” Stiles says. “Damn, I wish we’d thought of it earlier. We could have done it while everyone was distracted by the fight, maybe.”

“So let’s create a diversion,” Boyd says. “Start a fight or blow something up, then rub her pillow down with mistletoe when nobody’s looking.”

Stiles points at him with a spatula and says, “Now you’re talking. Let’s, uh, divert.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Jackson ought to be able to help us with that, huh?”

“Yeah.” Stiles considers for a minute and then adds, “I wouldn’t put it past Wednesday to have some stuff with her that can set off a small explosion, either.”

They finish with the food, and Jackson and the others come back downstairs for dinner. Jackson reports no change with Deaton, which at this point is a good thing. They eat their bowls of split pea soup and bread while quietly discussing diversions. Jackson doesn’t have any mistletoe, but he says Deaton always carries some, so he can go get it.

The debate over what kind of diversion to use becomes so lively that Derek has to remind them to stay quiet several times. Stiles is adamant that it has to take place while they’re all in the main room, or else Sally won’t take the bait. Jackson keeps telling him that’s impossible, because he doesn’t know any spells that work on timers.

“Can’t you just create one?” Stiles asks, frustrated.

“What do you think I am, some kind of wizard?” Jackson scoffs, sending half the pack into gales of laughter.

Stiles is on the verge of punching him in the face when Lydia says that if they can get her to the closet with the hotel’s cleaning supplies, she can rig up something that will explode, but take a couple minutes to do so. If Jackson can create a Way to an empty upstairs room, she can be back in the main room before it explodes.

It’s easy enough to create an excuse to get her to the closet while they’re all shuffling the dinner dishes back into the kitchen to be washed. She hums to herself as she picks up a bottle or two and then a large bucket. A few minutes later, she says she has what she needs.

“Jackson, if it’s a really short distance, creating a Way isn’t a big deal, right?” Stiles asks. “I mean, you could do one now to get the stuff up there, then do one later to get Lydia up there, without tiring yourself out?”

“Yeah, it’ll just take me a minute,” Jackson says.

A few minutes later, the goods are stored in an empty guest room, and everyone is lounging around the main room as if nothing had happened. Stiles has decided that they’ll wait until people are settling down to sleep before they set it off.

But they’ve barely sat back down when there’s suddenly an ear-splitting scream from upstairs. Everyone jolts upwards as if they’ve been given an electric shock. It’s coming from the direction of the room where the kids are, and barely three seconds have passed before everyone is running across the lobby and heading up the stairs.

As Stiles reaches the top of the first flight of stairs, he sees the person in front of him disappear. The hallways are almost pitch black, so it’s hard to tell exactly what had happened. He tries to stop, but it’s practically a stampede situation, and he stumbles forward anyway. The sensation that follows is similar to going through a Way, and his stomach does a back flip.

“The fuck just happened?” he blurts out, and now he does manage to stop. Derek, who was right behind him, stumbles into him, but nobody else does. They’re alone. Nobody is in front of them or in back of them – he doesn’t think. He can barely see anything, and he has no clue where they are. Just that they’re still inside, and presumably still in the lodge.

“What the hell?” Derek agrees. Stiles fumbles for his phone, then remembers that Sally hexed it and it isn’t working.

“Anyone got a light?” he asks the absolute nothing that he can see, and nobody answers. He can distantly hear other people, maybe in other hallways or rooms in the lodge, but none of them are close and their answers are muffled by the walls in between them. “Hey, Ian! Change into something that glows!” he says, but nothing happens. “Ian?” he calls out, a little uncertain. There’s no response. They’ve gotten separated somehow. That’s disconcerting. He feels his way around carefully, finds a door, the edges of a painting, a window. “I think it’s one of the upstairs hallways.”

“If the window’s over here, then the stairs should be back this way,” Derek says. Stiles nods and follows him. He’s taken aback when Derek stops walking with a sudden grunt. “What? What is it?”

“There’s a wall here.”

“Huh,” Stiles says. “I can’t help much. I can barely see a thing.”

“Yeah. Even with my vision, there’s not much to see.” Derek carefully feels along the opening where he had thought the stairs would be, then runs his hands along the wall. “Okay. Here’s a door.”

Stiles hears the creak of it opening, and then a sharp voice says, “Who’s there?”

“Wednesday?” Stiles says. “It’s Stiles. And Derek.”

“Okay.”

Stiles can see now, because Wednesday has the flashlight app on her phone turned on. It’s dimly illuminating the room they’re standing in. It looks like a standard guest room, unoccupied. She walks out of it with Sketch behind her. Stiles immediately looks up and down the hallway to see which way the stairs were, and is surprised to see that one hallway ends in a wall and the other in a window.

“This is weird,” Wednesday says, following his gaze. “Shouldn’t the stairs be there?”

“They should indeed,” Stiles says.

“Aw, man!” Sketch sounds excited. “It’s a mystery house!”

“What, like, one of those places where they tilt the walls and hope you don’t understand perspective?” Wednesday asks, clearly nowhere near as excited as her husband.

“Like the one Sarah Winchester built, with all the dead ends and doors that go nowhere and shit,” Sketch says. “I’ve always wanted to go there, actually.”

“Okay, I see what you mean, but this wasn’t a mystery house an hour ago, so I think we can assume that our pal Dante DeLuca has taken the place and twisted it up like a Rubik’s cube,” Stiles says. He opens the door across from them. It _should_ just lead to another guest room, but instead it opens up into the kitchen. “Super. At least we won’t go hungry.”

“Try the other doors,” Wednesday says, and the others head over to each one.

“Okay, I’ve got a staircase here,” Sketch says. “Let’s head down.”

“Wait, shouldn’t we go through the kitchen?” Stiles says. “That’s on the first floor.”

“Good point,” Sketch replies. They troop into the kitchen and use the dim light from Wednesday’s phone to navigate. Stiles is wondering how long her battery will last – she can’t have charged it recently – and thinks about whether or not they should grab some oil and towels to make torches. He’s a little afraid that they’ll burn the place down if they try.

The kitchen, which should lead out into the dining room and then the main lobby, instead opens up into the basement. “Hell,” Derek says. “Let’s try those stairs instead.”

“Roger that!” Sketch turns around cheerfully. But the door at the back of the pantry, which had lead to the hallway they started in, now leads to a different guest room.

Stiles considers that for a long minute before saying, “Okay, this is no longer funny.”

“Well, if everything is going to continue to change, I say we stay here while we think about our next move,” Wednesday says. “If DeLuca is behind this, we’re going to have to find him.”

“And then what?” Stiles says. “None of us are capable of doing shit to him.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Wednesday says. “If he’s focused on whatever magic he’s doing to maintain this, he might be vulnerable.”

“In which case he’s probably holed up somewhere that nobody can get to him,” Derek points out, and Wednesday grimaces but agrees.

“We need Jackson,” Stiles says. “He’s the only one here who will be able to do anything about this. Though, to be fair, he probably doesn’t need us to tell him to do that, so hopefully wherever he wound up, he’s working on the problem on his end. But we might as well try to find him and see if he needs any backup.”

Wednesday nods and is about to speak, but then Derek looks up suddenly, half-shifting again. “That’s going to have to wait,” he says. “Something’s coming.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

“You know that scene in Independence Day where Will Smith suddenly shouts ‘I could’ve been at a barbecue?’” Jackson says, staring at the wall where a door is supposed to be. “I’ve never related so fucking hard to that before now.”

“Preach,” Danny says. “I’m feeling that shit on a molecular level.”

“You’re the one who got me into this, asshole.”

“Oh, right!” Danny rolls his eyes. “I twisted your arm into learning _black magic_ from a _psychopath_ because of your feelings of inferiority. Leave me out of this, Jackson.”

There’s a long pause before Jackson says, “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“This is sweet and all, but how about we try to figure out what’s going on?” Annika asks, scowling at both of them in the dim light. At least they can see. Creating a ball of floating light was the first thing that Jackson had done when they had found themselves in the dark hallway. It’s not a sun like Deaton, creating a golden glow, but a hard, white light. “Where’s everyone else?”

“We must have all gotten separated when we went through the door,” Ethan says, glancing around. “I don’t know exactly where in the lodge we are, though.”

“Second floor, east wing,” Lydia says, and everyone blinks at her. She rolls her eyes. “Guys. The room numbers. They start with two, which means we’re on the second floor. And it’s the east wing because we can hear the waves hitting the window. Not that it really matters. Obviously, parts of the lodge have been moved with magic.”

Jackson frowns slightly and reaches for the nearest door. He opens it to see a hallway that’s basically identical to the one they’re already in. “I don’t actually think anything has actually moved,” he says. “Everything is still exactly where it started.”

“Why’s that?” Annika asks.

“Two reasons,” Jackson says. “The first is that it would take an enormous amount of energy to _physically_ move the different parts of the lodge around. That sort of spell would need some sort of energy source.”

“Like the ones that Gabriel Khan was doing, using us?” Lydia asks.

“Yeah, exactly. And I’m not saying that DeLuca _wouldn’t_ do a spell like that, but it’s probably not what his first choice would be. Which brings me to the second reason. There are three . . . three?” He pauses to count on his fingers. “Three rooms that have been surrounded by mountain ash. One for the injured and the staff, one for the kids, and one for Janea’s pack. And those are dead space to him. He can’t touch them, and moving the lodge _around_ them would be tricky. Plus that other sorcerer probably has his room warded, so that’s more space he can’t touch. None of which rules out him actually doing it, but there’s no reason he would have when there’s a much easier way to do this.”

“Which is?” Ethan asks.

Jackson shuts the door that leads to the open hallway, then opens it again. Now it opens up into one of the guest rooms. “Doorway spells. He’s enchanted the doorways, tied them all into a net, and now they all lead different places every time they’re opened.”

“So if we closed and opened that door over and over again, eventually we’d get somewhere useful?” Ethan asks.

“Sure, but it would take a long time.” Jackson turns to Lydia and says, “How many rooms do you think are in this place?”

Lydia looks up and down the hall and takes a moment to think about it before saying, “Well, in terms of guest rooms, there are a hundred twenty-eight.”

“How do you just _know_ that?” Ethan asks.

Lydia rolls her eyes. “This hallway has eight doors on either side. There are two identical wings, and they’re each four floors. Eight times two times two times four is two to the seventh power, which is one hundred twenty-eight.”

“Plus there’s a ton of rooms on the first floor that aren’t guest rooms,” Annika says, breezing by Lydia’s math. “In the central part of the lodge. There’s the big dining room, and the little restaurant. The kitchen, presumably a laundry room and supply rooms for the maids, staff lounge, et cetera. Reception, the little gift shop. There were three of those conferences rooms, a spa room, a business office for people who don’t know how to take vacations.”

“And if the door rotates in a truly random manner, rooms will repeat,” Danny says. “So yeah, we could open and close the door trying to get somewhere, but getting _anywhere_ will take a long time. The question is, where do we need to get?”

“Well, the good thing about this spell is that wherever DeLuca is, he’s incredibly vulnerable right now,” Jackson says. “He’s got to be focusing an enormous amount of attention to keep it running. We could literally walk up behind him and blow his head off and he’d never even notice. The bad news is that I’m sure wherever he is, he’s left his own door out of the network, which means it’s literally impossible to physically get to him, unless we start breaking down walls.”

“Which we could do,” Ethan says. “Hell, I’m in the mood to punch through some walls, to be honest.”

“Yeah, but think about how many walls you’d like have to punch down,” Danny says. “There’s got to be a better way.”

“Which there is, thanks to me,” Jackson says.

“Be prouder of yourself,” Danny says. “Go ahead. We’ll wait.”

Jackson punches his shoulder. “We’re gonna need a map of this place. They had those down at reception, right?” he adds, and Lydia nods. “Okay. And then we’re going to need some room for me and Marzanna to work.”

“Well, if we know where we need to go, let’s start opening doors and trying to get there,” Annika says. She opens the nearest doorway, stumbles backwards, and screams.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might not be a post later this week because I have family in town and a zillion obligations, alas. But I couldn't leave you on that cliffhanger too long, right?
> 
> I also would like to admit that I wrote this particular adventure in sorcery to give some of the characters who haven't had a lot of screen time some time to shine =D

 

“I’m not seeing this,” Tom says. “I’m just – tell me I’m not seeing this.”

“It’s unusual, even for us,” Ravinder agrees, tilting his head to one side as the corpse shambles towards them.

“You know, I put up with a lot,” Tom says, taking a few steps backwards. “I think I’ve taken all of this bullshit pretty well. But there are some things I just won’t tolerate, and one of those is _dead people_ trying to kill me.”

There’s the roar of a shotgun, and the corpse staggers backwards with half of its head missing. Tom looks over at the open door as Vanessa Nazario steps through it, with Mikael behind her. Vanessa looks down at the twitching body and says, “Well, _that’s_ something you don’t see every day.”

“You’re not wrong.” Mikael looks down at the end of the hallway, where two more zombies are shuffling towards them. “How many shells have you got for that?”

“On me? Only half a dozen.” Vanessa swings the shotgun around and pulls the trigger, then stops to reload. “Now let’s see what kind of zombies these are.”

“There are different kinds of zombies?” Tom asks, then throws his hands up in the air. “Why am I even asking? Of _course_ there are.”

“It’s not so much that there are different kinds as that they come in varying . . . levels,” Mikael says. “There’s no such thing as a zombie apocalypse. I mean, they’re not contagious.” He pauses as Vanessa pulls the trigger a third time and the third zombie collapses backwards. “They’re always real corpses, animated by sorcery. So their characteristics will vary, depending on what the sorcerer was going for.”

“What exactly are they going to go for beyond ‘the walking dead’?” Tom asks.

Mei walks over and nudges one with her toe. It doesn’t twitch. “Well, for example, durability. Some zombies would get up after that. Speed, strength, regenerative capability, et cetera.”

“This spell doesn’t seem to have focused much on any of those,” Vanessa says. “And you know what that means.”

“I don’t,” Tom says, feeling pissed.

“Me neither, to be honest,” Mikael says, soothing Tom’s temper.

“Quantity over quality,” Vanessa says. “It means there are more. A lot more.”

They all take a moment to look at the three corpses.

“We’re gonna need more ammo,” Vanessa says. “Let’s see if we can get to my room.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

There are plenty of doors to try, so Scott quickly gets his small crew organized, opening and closing them to see what they can find. He might not understand the technicalities the way Jackson does, but the results seem obvious enough. Not that he’s sure where they should be trying to go, but standing around in a dark hallway sure isn’t going to get them anywhere.

“Hey, I’ve got the spa,” Erica says. “Maybe we should just head in there and relax.”

“Tempting,” Mac replies. “Very tempting.”

“Well, the spa is on the first floor, so maybe it would be more helpful?” Sam says, glancing down at Scott.

“I don’t really think so,” Scott says. “I mean, at least here we have multiple doors to try. Down in the spa, there’s only one, so even though where we’re trying to go is on the first floor, that doesn’t guarantee that being on the first floor would get us any closer.”

“Fair.” Sam closes his door and opens it again. “Uhhhh . . .”

“What, what’d you find?” Boyd asks, looking over.

“A dead body,” Sam says.

“That’s hardly new this week,” Erica says with a snort.

“This one is . . . moving,” Sam says.

The others all look over. Sam has an impressive looking handgun up and pointed already, but he hasn’t fired.

“I know him,” he says. “One of my dad’s guys. He got killed by the ghouls on the first day.”

“Seriously?” Erica says. “I mean, come on now. _Seriously_.”

“Some sorcerers can animate dead bodies,” Sam says. “And God knows there were plenty of them. But I don’t know how he would be doing this and the spell on the house at the same time. That’s some serious shit.” He fires his gun three times, and everyone looks around him to see it pitch backwards. It twitches feebly but doesn’t try to get up.

“Maybe he didn’t need to,” Mac says. “I mean, with everything else going on, he could have been stealing the corpses and animating them a few at a time and just locking them in a room until he was ready for the big show.”

“Maybe,” Sam agrees. He shuts the door on the twitching zombie. “The rule for zombies is ‘up high, down low’.”

“Sounds kinky,” Erica says, smirking at him.

Sam flushes pink but doesn’t let her innuendo deter him. “Basically, you want to take off its head or take out its legs. Torso shots usually don’t bother them much, even with large caliber. They can take a lot of damage before they go down. These ones don’t seem to be too fast, though, which is good.”

“Okay, guys, I’m gonna be one hundred percent honest with you,” Mac says. “I’m not sinking my teeth into zombie. I’m a vegetarian.”

Erica giggles. “Is that really the reason?”

“It’s also really unsanitary!” Mac declares.

“Whoa, hey,” Boyd says. He’s still opening and closing his door during the discussion. “I think I might have found something that can help. Come in here.”

They follow him into the room. It’s one of the typical guest rooms, but one of the hunters has clearly been staying in it, because there are weapons stacked on every surface. “Jesus Christ,” Scott says, not sure if he should be impressed or horrified. “Who the hell is staying in here?”

“Let’s find out!” Erica says, diving for the suitcase. Scott rolls his eyes but doesn’t try to stop her as she goes through their things. “Definitely a woman. Heh, I bet it’s Stella.”

“I don’t think so,” Boyd says, looking through the things on the counter by the sink. When everyone gives him a questioning look, he says, “Black people need different hair care products. You guys do know that, right?”

“Right,” Mac says. “Hm, no razor, so we can deduce it’s someone who doesn’t give a fuck about shaving her legs.”

“Vanessa,” Boyd says. He picks up a bottle of pills and rattles them. “Her name’s on them.”

“Oh, yeah, what are they?” Erica says.

Boyd gives her an exasperated look. “Everyone’s got a right to privacy, you know.”

“So you don’t know what they’re for?” Erica asks.

Sam is already looking through the weaponry. “Vanessa won’t mind if we take some of her stuff,” he says. “But let’s leave some for the next hunters that come through.” He picks up a shotgun and a case of shells.

“Is that a sword?” Erica asks. “Vanessa just gets more and more awesome every time I learn stuff about her.”

“Put that down before you hurt yourself,” Boyd tells her, but Sam is looking over in interest.

“It’s an old cavalry saber,” he says. “Huh. Looks genuine. Given Vanessa’s family, it wouldn’t surprise me if they’d had it all the way since some ancestor took it off a soldier they killed back in the eighteen hundreds.”

“Shouldn’t we leave it here, then?” Scott asks, as Sam picks up the belt that goes with it and straps it on.

“Anyone could end up in these rooms, and I don’t think Vanessa would want some of the people here getting their hands on it,” Sam says. “I’ll keep an eye on it for her.” He tucks it into the belt and then turns back to the door. “Okay, let’s go.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

“This is a little nostalgic, isn’t it,” Chris mused, watching Victoria pull a knife out of a twitching zombie’s eye.

“You two probably fought zombies on your honeymoon, didn’t you,” Allison says, grinning at her parents.

“First anniversary, as it happens,” Victoria says, accepting her knife from Chris after he’s cleaned it. “Chris had been tangling with a sorcerer. Fortunately, they didn’t attack us while we were still at the fancy restaurant. That could have been a problem. They waited until later.”

“Where were you then?” Jake asks, blinking.

“Parking,” Victoria says, without an ounce of shame. “Come to think of it, Allison, there’s a good chance you were conceived that night.”

“Oh my God, Mom,” Allison says, doubling over from laughing so hard.

“Somehow I’m not all surprised to hear that you were conceived during a zombie attack,” Isaac says, looking at Allison thoughtfully.

“Well, not _during_ ,” Chris says. “We’re not _that_ talented.”

“Oh, I don’t know . . .” Victoria says, with a gleam in her eye.

Allison goes off into another gale of laughter while Jake turns even redder.

“Well,” Chris says, “we could stay here and chat about zombie nostalgia all day, but it won’t get us anywhere. In a situation like this, most people will try to head back to the main room so we can meet up and reconnoiter. Since the doors keep changing, I say we take the more direct route.”

Everyone looks at the window he’s pointing at. “That looks . . . unpleasant,” Victoria finally says.

“It looks terrifying,” Jake says.

“It won’t be as bad as it looks.” Chris is watching out the window. “We’re on the lee side of the lodge, so the wind won’t be as bad, and if we go around the west side of the building, we won’t have to worry about the surf.” He heads into the room the zombie had come from and starts stripping the sheets off the bed. “If we use these to tie ourselves together, we can make sure nobody is swept away.”

“Excellent idea,” Victoria says, flipping her knife in her hand.

“I’ll lead,” Isaac says. “I have the best night vision.”

Jake looks at where they’ve all started shredding the sheets and sighs. “Couldn’t I have wound up with people who are less adventurous?” he asks.

Allison grins at him. “Don’t lie, little bro. There’s nobody you’d rather be with than us.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the actual fucking fuck!” Stiles blurts out as he gets a good look at the creature coming in through the door. “I draw the line at a zombie fucking apocalypse! I’m so done with this fucking Conclave!”

“That’s a nice sentiment, but I don’t think it’s done with us,” Wednesday says grimly. “Hold my phone,” she adds, tossing it to Sketch.

“Kick his ass, babe, I got yo phone,” Sketch says, smirking at her.

The zombie lurches forward, and Derek plants a kick in its midsection. It flies backwards and hits the wall hard enough to dent it. Then it staggers back upright. “Well, that’s disturbing,” Derek mutters, studying the creature. It’s fairly freshly dead and doesn’t seem very rotten. If it weren’t for the gruesome wound that has its throat ripped half open, he’s not even sure they would know it was a dead body. “Where did it come from? Sally never mentioned zombies.”

“No, it’s a hunter,” Wednesday says calmly, as she roots around in the pantry. “He was killed by the ghouls on the first day. DeLuca’s pilfered our morgue.”

Derek nods. The zombie moves to attack again, and he charges forward, ramming his shoulder into the corpse’s gut and sending it flying again. That would explain why it doesn’t seem to have rotted much. Jackson had obligingly turned their makeshift morgue into a freezer. “How do we kill it?”

“Only a few ways,” Wednesday says. “Decapitation is the most popular. Or . . .” She comes out of the pantry and chucks a bottle forward just as the zombie gets back to its feet. It hits it squarely in the face and knocks it back onto its ass. Derek flinches as the pungent smell of alcohol hits him. “Fire,” Wednesday says. Her movements are still calm and unhurried as she wraps a towel around a long serving spoon, then flicks the knob on the gas stove. Moments later, she’s holding a torch.

“Oh my God, can I, can I, pleeeeeease,” Sketch says. Wednesday shrugs and hands him the torch, and he darts forward and tosses it onto the zombie’s chest. It immediately goes up into a rush of flames. “Best! Day! Ever!” Sketch proclaims.

Derek shakes his head a little, backing away from the open flame. “So DeLuca separates all of us. Makes it difficult if not impossible to get back in one place. And then lets loose a bunch of zombies.”

Wednesday nods. “So it would seem. We never really checked on the morgue. Okay, we deposited some new bodies there every day, but it would have been pretty easy for him to make off with ten or twelve without us noticing.”

Derek looks over at where Stiles is pondering the smoldering heap of what had once been a human being. “What are you thinking?”

“Honestly?” Stiles turns back to the other three. “Really the only thing that I was thinking was ‘so that happened’.”

Derek gives a snort, and before long, all four of them are laughing.

“If it’s only ten or twelve, the assembled hunters won’t have much trouble handling them, right?” Sketch asks.

Wednesday shrugs. “Depends on who’s armed with what, but yeah. I mean, zombies are durable and strong, but they aren’t fast, and in an environment like this, that’s important. Run through a door and slam it behind you, and they can’t get to where you are. Not if the doorways are constantly changing.”

“But that’s only if the hunters see them coming and figure out what they are,” Derek says. “We knew, because we got a guy who had really obvious wounds, and some of the people who have died weren’t torn up as badly. Plus, given the fact that it’s so dark – some of the hunters might see one of them and think it’s someone injured, and try to help them.”

“Well, there’s not much we can do about that,” Wednesday says, in her usual matter-of-fact way. “Speaking of the dark, my phone’s only at thirty percent, and that flashlight app won’t last forever. What about you guys?”

“Sally fried both our phones on the first day,” Stiles says glumly. “Sketch?”

“Never bothered with a flashlight app,” Sketch says. “Night vision, you know.”

“Well, at least your screen will give off some light. It’s better than nothing.” Stiles shakes his head. “We still need to find Jackson. Let’s get moving.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

“Um, is she okay?” Ethan asks, as Annika finishes beating the zombie to a pulp. It hadn’t exactly been necessary. Jackson had frozen it in place, and then Lydia had kicked its head clean off. That hadn’t stopped Annika from picking up one of the chairs in the room and attacking it.

“She’s got some aggression to work out,” Lydia says, unconcerned. She looks over at Jackson and says, “Ideas?”

Jackson shrugs. “He went to the morgue and stole a bunch of corpses.”

“There can’t be many of them, right?” Danny asks, though he sounds more hopeful than certain. “We would have noticed if all the bodies in the morgue went missing.”

“Assuming he didn’t just stuff a bunch of pillows underneath the sheets. It’s not like we checked on the bodies every time we went down there.” Annika straightens up and tucks her hair behind her ears. She’s slightly out of breath, but looks like she’s feeling better after her outburst. “So there could be a few. Or there could be forty or fifty.”

“Super,” Danny says.

“I doubt there’s that many,” Jackson says. “It does take power to animate them, although less than you’d think. I don’t think he could have done more than five or six per night, and none the same night he pulled off this,” he continues, waving to indicate their surroundings. “And none on the first night either, because that’s when he was doing his first big spell. So if we assume that he did six per night, the most we could have is eighteen.”

“Twenty-four,” Ethan corrects.

“No, it’s only been three nights,” Jackson says.

Ethan frowns. “I could’ve sworn it was four. Time all blends together in this fucking place. There’s barely even day or night.”

Lydia’s frowning, too. “I thought it had only been two, if we’re not counting the first night. Jackson, are you sure it’s been three?”

“Jesus, with you two confusing me I don’t know shit,” Jackson says.

Annika holds up her hand and starts counting. “Okay, the first night was Dante’s first attack. The second night was when the bridge went down. So the – ”

“No, the bridge went down the same night as Dante’s attack,” Danny says. “Remember, Papa Stilinski wanted to evacuate the staff afterwards.”

“Shit, you’re right.” Annika shakes her head. “Time _has_ really blended together. Okay, so, the second night was the night we all moved down to the big room together and slept there. Then . . . what happened that day?”

“Ugh, who cares!” Jackson waves this aside. “We’ve got anywhere between ten and twenty-five zombies in the lodge, good e-fucking-nough. None of that changes the fact that I need a map of the place, and for that we need to get down to the reception desk. And we don’t need to open doors, because I can create a Way directly to it and bypass all this dumb shit.”

“Well, why we are you talking about it rather than doing it?” Lydia asks, eyebrows arched.

“Because none of you guys wanted to shut up long enough to let me concentrate,” Jackson growls. “Just give me two minutes.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

“So do you think the spell relies on the act of opening and closing the door to change where it leads?” Tom asks, shining his flashlight through the doorway. “Because I’d hate to get separated on our way through. That must be how we all wound up in different places, right?”

“Yes, but I think opening and closing the doors matters,” Vanessa says. “Not just going through them. Mikael and I both came through this one together.”

“It could change over time, I suppose,” Ravinder says. “But given that opening and closing the door definitely does alter the destination, that seems the most likely method of change.”

“So if we leave doors open, we can always go back the way we came,” Mikael says. “And if enough people do that, eventually we’ll get the place mapped out and be able to connect with every room.”

“There are a hell of a lot of doors in this place,” Tom points out. “And the vast majority of them are just guest rooms. So we’d end up with a lot of doors that go nowhere. Even if we could make a route that went somewhere useful, there’d be no guarantee anyone else would be able to use it.”

“We’d be monopolizing the good doors for ourselves,” Mei says. “But where can we go? I’m sure the sorcerer is well hidden.”

“In a situation like this, every hunter’s goal will be to rendezvous at whatever place is serving as HQ,” Mikael says, “so that would be the lobby. But I don’t know if we’ll be able to get there. He might or might not have tied it into the network of doors.”

“Perhaps we should just stay where we are,” Ravinder suggests. “Lacking in magic as we are, there’s nothing we can do to fix the current situation. We could wait until one of the more capable members of our party handle it.”

Vanessa shrugs. “We could do that. But we don’t know what sort of shape everyone is in, or where they are, if they have light, if they’ve been attacked by the zombies and need medical care. Given the current skill and strength we have gathered here, we should stay on the move and see if we can find anyone who might need our help.”

“Ah. An excellent counter-argument.” Ravinder nods. “Very well. I’ll take point; Mei, if you would be rear guard?”

Mei nods and positions herself directly behind Tom. He sighs but doesn’t object. Mikael and Vanessa stand side-by-side behind Ravinder, ready to cover him.

Ravinder opens a door which reveals another hallway, and heads through.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

After some discussion, Scott and Sam agree that their goal should be to round up the less skilled or experienced hunters and make sure they were in a safe place. Depending on how people had gotten separated, there might be people who were alone, or groups without light. There certainly might be groups that are less equipped to fight zombies.

“Whenever a group gets separated on a hunt, the prime objective is to get to the last place everyone was together,” Sam says. “So everyone’s going to be trying to get to the lobby.”

“Assuming we can get there,” Erica says.

Sam nods. “It might not be linked into the spell. But we won’t know until we try. At least we can hopefully find and eliminate some of the zombies.”

“Let’s not forget that what’s-his-name the alpha and probably a few of his pack members are wandering around,” Boyd says. “I mean, they swept the lodge, but that doesn’t mean anything without a perimeter guard. They could have just come right back in.”

“Yeah. So we have to be on high alert.” Sam looks through the last door that Mac opened, which leads to what looks like a staff lounge. “Let’s leave this door open. That way, when we find people, we can put them in here for safekeeping. It looks like a pretty well-fortified room. No windows, couple vending machines if people get hungry.”

“Hey,” Scott says, looking out the window, “could we get to the lobby if we went around? You know, if we went outside?”

Everyone looks at the rain lashing angrily against the glass. “Maybe,” Erica says, “but what kind of idiot would do that?”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

“This – was – the – worst – idea – ever!” Jake shouts, trying to make himself heard over the howling wind and pounding rain. The fact that his teeth are chattering doesn’t help, either. It’s summer, and it shouldn’t be so freezing, but the rain has him instantly chilled to the bone.

He’s in the middle of their line, which makes him as safe as possible. Isaac is leading, and Chris is at the back. Between those two anchors, he thinks that they probably won’t fly off the outside of the building. Probably. But at the same time, he keeps thinking about the time he watched The Wizard of Oz and saw the woman riding her bicycle through the tornado.

It’s a thought that’s both amusing and terrifying, especially given that they’re on the lee side of the building and the wind isn’t even that bad. As soon as they go around the corner and they’re on the north side of the building instead of the west, they really almost are blown away entirely. He can’t see a thing, but he hears Isaac let out a yelp, and their entire line is driven backwards.

They’re on the back porch now, so at least they have solid wood underneath their feet instead of the squelching mud that had been beneath them before. Jake’s feet are caked in it, and he can barely feel them. He slips on one of the boards and stumbles backwards, nearly pulling the whole line down with him.

“S-Sorry!” he gasps out, as Victoria somehow gets him back on his feet.

Her response is physical rather than verbal, just a tight shoulder squeeze. Jake doubts he would be able to hear anything she said anyway.

Up ahead, he sees a flicker of light. He can dimly see Allison’s silhouette now, and grabs the sheet wound between the to try to tow himself along. “Go to the Conclave, they said,” he mutters to himself. “It’ll be fun, they said.”

Not that anybody had ever said that, given the level of disaster they had all figured they would be facing. But still, the sentiment felt true enough.

He barely realizes what’s happening when Isaac actually finds the lodge’s main room, and tears aside the plastic sheet that’s been holding one of the broken windows closed. A few minutes later, Allison and Isaac have dragged him inside, and he winds up flat on the floor, shivering. Victoria and Chris climb in next, and somehow manage to get the window covered again.

“That . . . sucked,” Jake gasps out.

“Yeah,” Chris agrees.

Isaac pulls his shirt over his head and wrings it out. “We could’ve just gone for a swim, Chris. I think we would have gotten less wet.”

“Don’t be such an infant,” Chris says, quickly stripping his clothes off. Jake knows he should probably do the same, but he feels like a scrawny toothpick next to the two extremely well-built men in the room.

Allison throws him a towel, and he sees the reassuring smile on her face. He turns a little pink, but hastens over to his things to grab some dry clothes. Chris starts building the fire back up, and the light flickers around the corners of the room. Jake redresses and towels his hair as dry as possible before draping the towel over a chair to dry out.

He’s just about to say something about how they’re the first ones back when Isaac’s head snaps up. “Someone’s here,” he says, shifting into his partial form and standing protectively in front of Jake.

“Well, well,” a voice drawls from the balcony. “I was wondering which of you saps would make it back here first. Five of you, huh? No problem.” Kaleb jumps down and lands in a neat crouch, his eyes glowing vivid crimson. “Say good night.”

Chris glances at Victoria, then Allison. The look he gives each of them is casual, but Jake knows that he’s somehow conveying entire volumes of information about strategy to them. “Okay,” he says, as both Victoria and Allison back away to give him more room. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaand we're back!

 

“Is this really the best way to go about this?” Derek asks, as they go through what feels like the fiftieth doorway in an hour. “I mean, if the doors lead to a different place every time they open, we could just open and shut a doorway over and over again rather than walking through them.”

“I guess we could do that,” Stiles says, “but it’d get really boring. At least this way we have the illusion that we’re going somewhere.”

“I don’t know that I prefer deluding myself,” Wednesday says.

Stiles shrugs. “I always feel better when I’m on the move. I don’t think it really matters either way, does it?”

“I guess not,” Sketch says cheerfully, opening the door and walking into another hallway.

Before they’re halfway down, another door opens and a man walks out. All of them tense immediately, with Wednesday’s gun coming up. Stiles doesn’t recognize him, although he doesn’t know the faces of all the assembled hunters, especially not the ones who had died early in the Conclave. But he’s pretty sure he would remember this one. He’s tall but painfully thin, and his face gives the impression that he had lost a lot of weight very quickly. His dark blonde hair is cut unevenly and he looks kind of like a scarecrow.

“Excuse me,” he says, as soon as he sees them, and they all tense up a little more. “Do you know where I can find Jim Stoddard?”

“Uh, no,” Stiles says automatically, taken off guard by the polite tone and phrasing. “Sorry.”

In response, the man simply nods and walks away. Stiles opens his mouth to call after him, but then Peter speaks up, sudden and decisive. “Don’t. Let him go.”

“The hell?” Stiles replies, almost speaking the words aloud in his surprise.

“There’s something . . . wrong,” Peter says. “Something about him that makes me uneasy. He’s dangerous in a way that we can’t see. Don’t provoke him.”

Stiles practically misses the last half of what Peter says, because the man has disappeared through another doorway and Wednesday is talking. “Who the hell was that? I don’t think I’ve seen him before.”

“I’m not sure,” Stiles says. “I was going to call out after him, but there was something about him that made me think I’d better not. It’s hard to put a finger on why.”

“He wasn’t a zombie, right?” Sketch asks.

“No, definitely not,” Derek says. “He smelled like a wolf.”

“Well, God knows that there are probably still some of those wandering around,” Wednesday says, and gives a philosophical shrug. “He didn’t bother us, so I guess there’s no need to have bothered him. Come on, let’s keep moving.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

It takes about an hour for Scott and the others to round up about half a dozen hunters. Their luck has been so poor that Erica clearly wants to give up, and even Boyd and Mac are starting to look politely skeptical. It doesn’t help that two of the hunters have made it clear that they don’t need any help from werewolves. Scott had tried to talk them into going to safety, had explained the dangers, but they hadn’t wanted to hear any of it.

“Okay, but if you get killed by zombies, I’m gonna spit on your corpse,” Erica tells them, which of course doesn’t help anything.

Even Scott is getting ready to throw in the towel – what the hell is taking so long for the resident sorcerers to put the house to rights? – when he opens a door to find a surprising sight. It’s Sally Stoddard. She’s in one of the suites, sitting on a sofa with her legs tucked up underneath herself. The room is dimly lit by a few candles, and she’s holding a glass bowl in her hands with her eyes closed.

“What – ” Boyd says, seeing the way Scott has gone still. Then he sees Sally and abruptly cuts the sentence off.

It doesn’t matter. Sally’s already heard them, and her eyes open. “Oh, hello,” she says, with her usual smile. She sees Sam peering over Scott’s shoulder and the smile becomes almost a smirk. “Sam! I’m so glad to see you! I’ve been stuck in here and I haven’t wanted to risk going out by myself!”

“Oh, yeah, no problem,” Sam says, taken off guard. “We can look after you. What have you got there?”

“Just some water,” Sally says, setting it aside.

Boyd is looking out the window, where the lightning is flashing occasionally, illuminating their faces. “Is that how you do the spell?”

Sally gives him a blank, surprised face, and points at herself as if to say ‘who, me?’ “What?”

“Get off it, Sally, we already told Sam all about you,” Erica says, as impatient as always. “The storm really kicked into gear about ten minutes after we all got separated. You must’ve spun it back up, right?”

Sally makes a face at them and doesn’t respond to Erica. Instead, she saunters over to Sam and says, “Shall we, my white knight?”

Sam looks dubious, then says, “Maybe you’d better stay in here.”

“Spoilsport.” Sally blows a raspberry at them. “Fine, be that way. I’ll just wait for someone else to come rescue me. I’m sure the next person who turns up will be happy to.”

Sam shakes his head at her, and Scott ushers the group out of the room. But he’s frowning as he shuts the door. Boyd sees the expression on his face and asks, “What are you thinking?”

“Just that . . . Sally’s tired.” Scott looks pensive. “It’s like, I stopped thinking of her as a human being a while ago. But she was just sitting there with her eyes closed after she finished with the spell. The storm kicked back into gear almost an hour ago – it’s not like she just finished doing it. But she was still just sitting there, maybe even nodding off.”

“Does it matter?” Erica asks.

“I’m not sure.” Scott shrugs. “But it might mean she’s vulnerable. Once we find Stiles, we can talk to him about it, see what he thinks.”

“Yeah, presuming that ever happens,” Boyd says. “Are we sure we don’t want to go outside and around?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m freakin’ positive,” Erica says. “We just have to wait for Jackson to get his ass in gear and straighten the house out. Now come on. Those vending machines had Cheetoh’s in them, and I’m hungry.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Jake has seen hunters fight, of course, but never the sort of fight that Chris is having with the alpha. He moves with the werewolf, ducking his blows and not trying to strike back – not yet. He knows that without a weapon, nothing he does will make a dent. So he waits, and evades, working the alpha into a fury as he finds himself unable to lay a hit.

“Dad!” Allison shouts, and Jake’s head jerks around to see her throw the poker from the fireplace in his direction.

Kaleb snarls and grabs it out of the air before Chris can reach it. But then he lets out a yelp and drops it as the hot metal burns his skin. Allison had held it in the fire before throwing it, letting Chris buy her time for the metal to heat up.

Chris grabs it by the handle before it hits the ground, swinging it up and around and laying a solid blow against Kaleb’s chin. The alpha staggers backwards and hits the ground hard, but springs back up.

“You piece of shit!” he bellows, swinging a wild haymaker which Chris ducks easily. He swings the poker down low, using the hook to catch the cuff of Kaleb’s pants and yank him right off his feet.

“Isaac!” Victoria calls from the other side of the room. “Little help over here?”

Jake looks over to see Victoria looking through the belongings of the other hunters. She’s obviously looking for something, although Jake couldn’t say what.

Chris slams downwards with the poker, but Kaleb rolls and avoids the blow. He gets up just fast enough to get an arrow through the throat. With a howl of pain, he rips it out. Blood goes everywhere.

Jake’s not a hunter, but he knows enough about hunting techniques to see what Allison and Chris are doing. They’re stalling. They know they can’t win with brute force. Jake is sure that Chris is carrying a gun, but he won’t waste his bullets until he knows he can get a shot that will count.

Enraged and in pain, Kaleb leaps forward, backhanding Chris and sending him flying. He spins around, snarling, and focuses on Jake.

Jake stumbles backwards as the alpha charges him, but he’s already moving to grab the shovel out of the fireplace. He’s not much of a hunter, but he’s an Argent, and he can take care of himself. Chris was good about letting Jake pursue other career aspirations, but he still drills on self-defense along with the rest of the pack.

Just before Kaleb can reach him, Jake swings the shovel and slams it into the window. An enormous gust of wind comes through, blowing a face full of glass shards into Kaleb. He yelps and staggers back.

“Chris, I’ve got enough!” Victoria shouts.

Chris immediately leaps forward and slams the poker down through Kaleb’s foot and into the floor. He howls with pain and jerks free. It only holds him for a moment, but the moment is enough. Enough for Allison to scramble up onto him like she’s looking for a piggy back ride, and break a bottle over his head.

The bottle dissolves into a shower of broken glass and purple powder. It’s then that Jake realizes what Victoria was doing - going through the hunters’ belongings until she found someone who had a case of the spiked bullets. She’d had Isaac use his claws to pry them open and empty them out.

Kaleb stumbles and goes to one knee, hacking and choking on the powder. That’s when Chris raises his gun. For a moment, Jake’s heart was in his mouth, afraid that it wouldn’t fire after their extended time in the rain. But Chris buys quality firearms, and the gun has no problem putting six high-caliber bullets into Kaleb’s chest.

It’s possible that an alpha could get up from that if he got a second, but the Argents don’t give him one. Victoria’s on her feet with a shotgun that she fires twice. By the time she’s done shooting, Kaleb’s head is nothing more than a smear.

The room echoes as the sound of the gunfire fades away. There’s a pause as everyone catches their breath.

“How did he even get in here?” Isaac says. “He wasn’t soaking wet so he can’t have gone outside like us.”

“He was always here,” Allison says. “He never left. He was just waiting in the wings, and when the rest of us heard the scream and went running, he just stayed here and waited for us to come back.”

“Too bad for him it was us,” Chris says, giving his wife and her shotgun an appreciative look. “Let’s get rid of the body and close up this window.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

“Well, this is . . . mildly disturbing,” Tom says, looking around at the room that they had been using as the morgue. He’s wondering vaguely how he got into this. Five years ago, his life had seemed so simple. Issue traffic tickets, deal with the occasional robbery or vandalism. Keep his energetic, easily distracted son on the straight and narrow. Maybe get a date occasionally. Sneak cheeseburgers when Stiles wasn’t looking.

Now he’s standing in a room full of bodies on an island with no power, no phones, no way to contact the real world. He would wonder how he got from point A to point B, except the answer basically boils down to two things: a psychopath named Kate Argent and a son named Stiles who’s willing to do anything to protect his family.

Ravinder twitches a few of the sheets aside. “It appears that the warlock took most of the bodies for his zombies. The only ones here are the ones who were presumably too badly damaged to be of use.”

“Well, after what happened with his first spell,” Mikael starts, and then sees Vanessa’s mouth tighten. “Sorry, Vanessa. Forgot your grandson had been . . .”

“It’s fine,” Vanessa says briskly. “All the more reason to get to this guy. Anyway, there isn’t much we can do in here. How about we – ”

Before she can finish her sentence, there’s a crash, and half a dozen ghouls boil through the window. Tom barely has time to get his gun up before Mei knocks him to the ground, standing over him protectively in her alpha form. “For God’s _sake_ ,” Tom groans, but then he sees one of the ghouls pick up one of the dead bodies and literally tear it in two. He decides he’s happier on the floor. Hell, even Mikael and Vanessa seem to have decided that discretion is the better part of valor. They’ve taken cover behind a table that was knocked over in the original attack.

Not that it does them a lot of good. While Ravinder takes down the first two ghouls, another grabs the table and upends it, sending them both sprawling. Vanessa covers well, firing her shotgun directly into its chest even as she goes flying. But it doesn’t slow the ghoul down much. Tom realizes that a shotgun is a terrible weapon for fighting a ghoul. The point of a shotgun is to spread the damage. Ghouls need concentrated damage to one of only a few vulnerable spots.

From where he’s lying on the floor, he empties an entire clip into the ghoul’s neck as it crouches over Mikael. The bullets aren’t high caliber enough to actually decapitate it, but they at least take it down. Mikael scrambles back to his feet and grabs his own handgun, shooting a ghoul off of Ravinder’s back and sending it staggering.

Tom slams another clip into his gun, but he’s only carrying the one spare. His fire will only be able to distract the ghouls, not kill them – although, when fighting an alpha werewolf, a distraction is more than enough to be fatal. He gets the next one in the leg, and Ravinder follows up by taking its head off. One of them tackles Mei, and she gets it in a vise grip, squeezing so hard that Tom can hear its bones popping.

The last ghoul ducks the swipe of Ravinder’s paws and lands a solid kick in the alpha’s midsection, sending him flying. Then it bounds over to Vanessa, who’s reloading her shotgun. Tom aims for its knee and pulls the trigger, but the only noise is the click of an empty chamber. “Shit!” He scrambles to his feet, although he has no idea what he’s going to do.

“Vanessa, here!” a new voice shouts, and something goes flying through the air. Vanessa grabs it, and Tom sees a flash of silver in the dim light as she executes a spin and takes the ghoul’s head right off its shoulders.

“Nice,” Mikael says, from where he’s on his knees and covered in pale green ghoul blood.

Vanessa flicks the sword, and a few droplets of liquid go flying. She looks over at the newcomers as Sam, Scott, and what looks like half the pack tumble in. “Why do you have my saber?” Her voice is mild. “Not that I don’t appreciate the rescue; I’m just curious.”

“We found your room earlier, and I didn’t want anybody else to grab it,” Sam says.

Vanessa swings the sword into a quick salute, then wipes it off onto the edge of her shirt. “Is that all of them?”

Mei releases the ghoul she’s been grappling with, and it drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes. “I believe so.”

“Papa Stilinski, are you okay?” Erica asks, as she and the other pack members hurry over to him.

“I’m fine,” Tom assures them.

“Indeed, he hardly needed our services at all,” Ravinder says.

Tom looks around at the four ghouls that Ravinder and Mei had killed. “Yeah, I wouldn’t go quite that far,” he says, and Ravinder laughs quietly. “All right, I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t want to hang around here. Let’s go see if we can figure out where my son has gotten off to.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

“So what are you actually going to do with that?” Ethan asks, watching in interest as Jackson sits down on the floor and spreads the lodge map out in front of him. Wilma sits down at Jackson’s back, tongue lolling in a happy grin.

Jackson reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crystal on a chain. “Well, first of all I need to figure out where this asshole is,” he says. “It’d be easier if I had something of his, like a token or something. Basically all I can do like this is search for a pocket of energy.”

Everyone watches in interest as Jackson moves his hand over the map, the crystal swaying gently back and forth. In a few places, it stops moving, the chain going taut. Jackson moves it over the map a total of three times, and it does the same thing at those spots every time.

“How many pockets was that?” Lydia asks, watching Jackson closely.

“Three.” Jackson tucks the crystal away.

“How do we know which is which?” Annika asks.

“By process of elimination,” Jackson says. “We don’t have anything that belongs to DeLuca that we could use to narrow it down. But I _do_ have something that can rule out each of the other two. Sort of.” He pulls a feather out of one pocket. “Sorcerers have this unfortunate inclination to keep tokens whenever they stumble across them. Turns us into sort of pack rats. I grabbed this on the first day we ran into Blaine.”

“Shouldn’t it have dissolved?” Ethan asks. “It was part of a construct.”

“Yeah, it would’ve, if I hadn’t grabbed it and preserved it. Now it’s like a little, hardened piece of Blaine’s magic.”

Lydia frowns. “Why weren’t we using that to look for him earlier?”

“Because finding him was never the problem. Getting to him is the God damned problem.” Jackson ties a piece of string around the feather and starts moving it around the map. It only takes a minute for it to respond, and he draws an ‘x’ on the map to note the location. “Now for Sally. That’s going to be trickier. We need to find Stiles or Derek. Sally hexed their phones on the second day, so they’ll still have some magical residue on them.”

“Okay, how do we get to them?” Lydia asks. “You can’t make a Way directly to another person, can you?”

“No, but I can find one of them on the map if we have something that belongs to them, or something that they’ve worked with.”

Lydia and Danny both pat their pockets down, then look at Jackson and shrug. “Maybe we could find our room,” Danny says.

“And we’re back to opening five hundred doors,” Annika says, rolling her eyes. She digs in her pocket and pulls out a piece of paper folded into a triangle. “How about this? Stiles and I were passing notes to each other while I was spying on Stella for him. He wrote this one.”

“Well, it’s not great, but it’s probably the best we’ll get.” Jackson took the piece of paper from her and tied a piece of string around it. But when he dangled it over the map and concentrated, it behaved oddly, swinging rapidly and snapping from place to place. “Son of a bitch.”

“Not good enough?” Danny asks.

“No, it’s not that. The little bastard is moving. The way it’s jumping around – normally it would go in a straight line, following Stiles wherever he went, but because of the doorway spell, Stiles is jumping around the building, so this is too. Why can’t the little fucker just sit still?”

“ADD, I think,” Lydia replies. “Should we try to look for him?”

“I wouldn’t,” Annika says. “When you’re lost, stay put. He isn’t staying put, so we should. And if we can watch the map, if he stops to rest in a place we can get to, we’ll know.”

“That works,” Jackson says. “It might take forever, but it works.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Walking around the dark lodge and seeing the same rooms over and over again is like the worst video game level Stiles has ever played. He’s fidgety and jumpy, and the darkness doesn’t help. They hear gunshots several times, but he’s never sure of exactly where they’re coming from. Going through the endless parade of similar rooms is maddening.

He’s almost relieved when they open a door and go into the laundry room and find a person there. It’s not anyone he knows, and he’s sitting by one of the washing machines. “Hey!” Stiles says, so excited to see another human being that he immediately trots over. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m all right.” The man’s voice is hoarse. He looks up as Stiles approaches, and in the dim light Stiles can see first the surprise, then the recognition. He supposes that his face isn’t the one the guy was expecting to see.

It’s a good opportunity to make diplomatic inroads, he supposes. He doesn’t know this guy from Adam, can’t even remember which territory he’s from or who he’s been hanging out with. He reaches out to help him up. The man gives him a nod of thanks and grasps his wrist as Stiles pulls him upwards. Then he lurches forward and slams something into Stiles’ side hard enough to knock the breath out of him.

Stiles stumbles backwards and lands on his ass in a heap. He’s not even sure of what just happened. Then he sees the glint of light off the knife that the man had just tried to stab him with as it falls to the floor. The hunter has dropped it to go for his gun. There’s a gleam of vivid blue as Derek snarls and leaps for him, but the hunter is surprisingly quick. He twists around and lets Derek’s momentum carry him past. Before Derek can turn around, the hunter has his gun arm up and aimed and Stiles is still just sitting on the floor trying to figure out what’s going on.

There are two gunshots, sharp and sudden. Stiles flinches from the noise, and the hunter goes sprawling on the ground. He twitches once and then goes still.

“The _hell_?” Stiles manages.

“Are you all right?” Wednesday asks, and he blinks at her stupidly, noting the gun in her hand. “Did he get you?”

“No, I . . .” Stiles lifts his shirt off and the dim light glints off the chain mail he’s wearing. Wednesday’s expression of puzzlement turns into understanding.

“Mithril!” Sketch declares excitedly.

“You’re such a nerd,” Wednesday says in a tone that’s nothing but fond.

Stiles looks at the hunter who had just tried to kill him. “He – he wasn’t a zombie,” he says, as Derek helps him up off the floor.

“I know,” Wednesday says.

“Then – why did you kill him?” Stiles asks. “I mean, you could have gone for his legs or something.”

“In dim light, with a moving target, as well as two people I was trying not to hit? Hell no.” Wednesday is frowning at Stiles. “Go center mass or go home.”

“You okay?” Derek asks Stiles.

“I just . . .” Stiles has to stop and take a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m freaking out a bit, I think. I’m not used to people just randomly trying to kill me. I mean, okay, it happens more than I’d like, but that one was . . . sudden.” He nods at Wednesday and adds, “Thanks for the save.”

Wednesday tucks her gun away. “You want to repay me, tell me where I can get a chain mail shirt. The closest Ren Faire is in North Carolina and the quality there was shit.”

“I’ll give you the guy’s card,” Stiles says. “I’ve been wearing this since the second night here, and let me tell you how uncomfortable sleeping in this stuff is.”

“I bet,” Wednesday says.

There’s a sudden influx of bright light, and all of them swing around. Jackson steps out of nowhere and blinks around. “Jesus, Stilinski, could you have made it any harder on me? I’ve been watching you move around for the last hour. I can’t hit a moving target with a Way.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, blinking at him. “Sorry.”

“I need your phone,” Jackson says, and Stiles just keeps blinking. Jackson heaves a sigh. “Your _cell phone_ , you asshole. Sally hexed it, and I need a sample of her magic so I can rule her out on my map and find DeLuca. Try to keep up, for God’s sake.”

“It’s been a long day,” Stiles says defensively. The group of them follow Jackson back through the Way to the reception area, which is getting crowded. He exchanges a quick hug with Lydia and Danny, and Derek does the same. Then he looks with interest at what Jackson is doing. He’s bent over a map, muttering to himself. “So what are we doing?”

“ _We_ aren’t doing anything,” Jackson says. “I’m going to kick his ass.” He lets out a breath. “Okay, I’ve figured out which of these hot spots is him, so I can take a swing at him now. But I’m going to need quiet. This is going to take a lot of concentration, and if I screw it up, I might accidentally kill all of us.”

“Right, quiet it is,” Annika agrees. “For how long?”

“Probably gonna take me about five minutes. I need to pierce right through the bubble he’s built around himself. It’s both strength and precision. I’m good at the first, but not so much with the second. Even with Marzanna’s help, I’ve got to make sure I narrow the power down to a fine point.”

“We believe you, and will shut up for as long as it takes,” Danny says. Everyone looks at Stiles, who raises his hands in surrender, and curls up in a corner with Derek. To be honest, he’s perfectly happy to take a five to ten minute break. He leans against his lupa and tries to relax.

Jackson holds one hand over the map, centered over the room that Dante DeLuca has made into his home. Everything is quiet except for the faint drum of rain. Cold air starts to drift off Jackson, and most of them back away, although Wilma doesn’t move.

The others can see the cold start to intensify around Jackson’s hand, first just a rim of frost and then actual ice. It forms down out of his palm like an icicle. Jackson doesn’t seem to notice. He doesn’t shiver or tremble. The ice creeps over his fingers and up his arm, and still he just sits, completely motionless, eyes closed. Stiles glances at his watch as the minutes tick by. He can tell that everyone is starting to get restless, including him.

Just before the tip of the icicle touches the map, Jackson moves. He slams his hand down onto the map, and the icicle shatters into hundreds of pieces.

Cold snaps through the entire room, blowing the door open with the force of the air. They all look out and see the hallway that was usually outside the registration desk. When Jackson opens his eyes, Danny says, “Did it work?”

“Yeah, I shut him down cold,” Jackson says, smirking. Lydia and Annika both groan at the pun. “Let’s go get him.”

It’s not hard to find him. Even without knowing where he was, they can just follow the trail of cold air. As the doors are working again, they see hunters gathering on the stairs and in the hallways. “Hey, what happened?” Mikael shouts over to him from an opposite balcony.

“Come and see,” Jackson says, jogging down the stairs and into one of the other hallways. He tries the door to one of the guest rooms and finds it locked. “Danny, if you would do the honors?”

Danny kicks the door down. It’s like opening a door into Narnia. The entire room is covered in snow, and there’s ice on all the walls. In the middle of the room is a middle aged man with jet black hair. He’s similarly covered in frost, completely unmoving although his eyes are open.

“Jesus,” Mikael says, as he and Vanessa come up behind Jackson. “Is that DeLuca?”

“Yep. His defenses were almost completely lowered while he was casting, so it was easy enough to get to him.”

“Is he dead?” Vanessa asks, staring at him with narrowed eyes.

“Of course not,” Jackson says. “I don’t use magic to kill people. That’s like the biggest no-no on record. I could snap my fingers and thaw him out and he’d be perfectly fine.”

“Uh huh.” Vanessa gives a solid swing of her saber. It hits DeLuca right across the back. His body immediately shatters into hundreds of frozen pieces. “And what if somebody does that?”

Jackson looks at the pieces spread out across the ground. “That would make him considerably less fine after he thaws out.”

“What a shame.” Vanessa sheathes her saber and walks out of the room.

“I’m not cleaning that up,” Jackson says to Mikael, and follows her.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Papa Stilinski ftw

 

It takes a little while to collect everyone and do a headcount. Four hunters are missing. They do a thorough scout of the lodge. It takes time, because they have to open every door, even the ones that are locked. All the bodies that had been taken from the morgue are taken back, in various states of disrepair. In addition to the four hunters that had been killed, there are three dead werewolves including Kaleb.

“Do you think that’s all of them?” Chris asks Ned Stoddard, not wanting to talk to Jim.

“Except for – whoever the third alpha is,” Ned says. “This does look like Kaleb’s entire pack.”

“And what about that third alpha?” Tom asks, with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know who it is, I swear. I brought Kaleb and his pack in – and they really had hurt a lot of people – but that’s the only alpha I’ve captured in the last five years. I don’t always know what Jim’s been up to.”

“He’s your brother,” Chris says.

“And Kate Argent was your sister,” Ned shoots back. “Are you going to tell me that we should bear responsibility for the sins of our families? Because that would be an interesting talk.”

Chris grimaces. “Okay, point taken. Just – see if you can get Jim to tell you anything about whichever alpha is left, okay? We need to find him.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

By the time everything is taken care of, it’s nearly three o’clock in the morning. They wearily set up watches and drift into groups to get some sleep. Most of them sleep long past sunrise. When they get up, it’s to an unpleasant surprise. In all the chaos, nobody had ever turned the generator off the night before. It had burned out, and would no longer turn back on. That means no more hot food and the few lights they had turned on would no longer work either.

Several of the hunters boil water over the fire and use it to make coffee and tea. There’s cereal for breakfast. Nobody seems very hungry in any case. Everyone is exhausted and surly. Three of the hunters are still somehow werewolves, including Stella Jones and Francisco Gutierrez. Stiles thinks he should care, but he doesn’t.

While he’s eating breakfast, a wasp flies over and lands on the rim of his mug. Wherever Ian has been, he’s back, and that means that they can start looking for Blaine Acklin. He excuses himself and his pack and heads up the stairs to the rooms that they had originally been staying in. As soon as the door shuts behind them, Ian appears in a puff of reddish dust. “Good morning, Stiles.”

“Where’ve you been?” Stiles asks, a little uncharitably. “We were worried.”

“It’s a fascinating story,” Ian says, and several of the pack members roll their eyes. “You see, when everyone ran for the stairs, I got left behind. At the moment it happened, I was in that centipede form you hate, to remain unobtrusive. Centipedes don’t move very quickly, but I didn’t want to shift in case I was seen, so I waited for the room to empty a little before I shifted into a flying form and followed.”

“Where’d you wind up?” Derek asks.

“It’s not the where that was interesting so much as the ‘with who’,” Ian says. “Guess who else dilly-dallied before heading up the stairs?”

Stiles blinks, then gets it. “Sally.”

“Mm hm.”

“I thought you didn’t want to go anywhere near her,” Allison says, her eyes narrowed.

“Oh, I didn’t, and still don’t, but it happened that way nonetheless. She was by herself, and seemed to find the rotating doors rather entertaining. I didn’t want to get too close to her, and I certainly didn’t want to hang out until she realized I was there, so I flew through one of those doorways and spent the rest of the time by myself.”

“Okay, so, why are you even bothering to tell us this?” Derek asks.

“Because for the brief time that I was alone with Sally, I noticed that she had changed. There’s a tiny spark of fear in her now. It wasn’t there before, trust me. And it wasn’t strong enough that I gained any new form. But it _was_ there.”

“Fear of what?” Stiles asks. “Of us?”

“No, no. Like I said, it was very faint, but it definitely wasn’t you. It was a woman. Blonde, I think, and older than any of you.”

“Sally’s mother.” Stiles’ eyes went wide. “That makes sense. Abbie is the first person to have ever gotten the better of Sally, even if it was only for a minute and she was able to get away before Abbie could really hurt her.”

“That’s interesting, but I don’t see how it really helps us,” Allison says, frowning.

“Well, it might,” Stiles says. “If we need a distraction. I’ll have to think about it.”

“We ran into Sally, too,” Scott says, and relays the brief conversation they’d had with her. “She seemed tired. Like, actually tired.”

“That makes sense,” Jackson says. “This spell she’s using to keep the storm going is not small magic. Plus she’s been doing a handful of other stuff here and there.”

“And she’s not sleeping as much as the rest of us,” Stiles says thoughtfully. “She has to leave the room at night to do that spell, and to eat, since she’s not eating the food that everyone else is eating. So she’s awake for a chunk of the night, but she can’t make up for it during the day because she doesn’t want anybody to know.”

Derek sits down next to Stiles and idly rubs at his back. “Someone like Sally won’t be used to deprivation, to exhaustion. She might have never had to deal with it before, because she always looks out for number one.”

“I wonder if she thought this would all be over in a few days.” Scott sounds thoughtful. “I mean, if you consider everything that’s been going on, it’s probably a miracle that as many of us are still alive as there are.”

“She might have,” Allison agrees. “It’s taken a lot of effort just to keep all the hunters from killing _each other_ , let alone us.”

“This is good.” Stiles is chewing on his lower lip, staring off into space. “I know better than most how sleep deprivation combined with a high-stress situation can make people act.”

“You think she’s going to start making mistakes?” Derek asks.

“She already has,” Stiles says. “She can’t have _wanted_ anyone to catch her nodding off with her hand in a bowl of water. So, yeah. But it’s not even so much her skill or her brains that she’s going to lose control of first. Trust me, I know this much. It’s her emotions. That’s what makes you go off the handle when you’re tired.”

“Does Sally have emotions?” Justin asks dryly.

“She does. She was truly pissed when she thought I had killed Jonas, and truly unnerved when her mother showed up. Sally’s a psychopath, but she’s not a robot. If we make her think she’s losing, she could well and truly go off the deep end.” He shakes his head. “To do that, we need Deaton. And to get Deaton, we need Blaine. So let’s get to work.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Ian’s parrot form is incongruously beautiful, with brilliant red and blue feathers. Everyone in the pack wants to coo over it, and Ian struts around, enjoying the attention. “Okay, say something,” Erica tells him.

“I know what you did!” Ian croaks, and the pack breaks up into laughter.

Stiles shakes his head a little, but he’s trying not to laugh. After the last few days, he feels like he could use it. “Okay, Ian,” he says. “You should be able to get closer to this sorcerer than any of the rest of us. Can you, uh, actually talk? Or can you just say parrot stuff like polly want a cracker?”

“Polly wants you to stop being an idiot,” Ian replies.

Stiles sniggers again. “Okay. So, just find out where he is, see how he’s doing, tell him that we’re his friends, and that we’re sure he’s hungry and if he comes out he can have a sandwich and stuff. Or tell him if he doesn’t want to come out, we can bring him something.”

“Easy peasy,” Ian squawks, and takes off. Stiles shakes his head. It _is_ a little disconcerting to be leaving such a delicate task in Ian’s admittedly-non-subtle hands. Or feet. But he thinks that Ian will have a much better chance of getting to Blaine than any of the rest of them will. As twitchy as it makes him, they’ll just have to wait.

Allison deals out a card game, and the pack settles in. Stiles gets up to pace several times, but the pack pulls him back down, trying to keep him calm.

It’s about half an hour later when Ian flies back in through their open door and settles on the bed, preening. Then, in a puff of red and blue, he changes back to Stiles. “Interesting chap,” he says. “He is, indeed, very hungry. I think you could bring him something as long as you take it slowly. I asked what he wanted and he looked at me like I was from a different plane of existence.”

“That’s sort of true,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes and getting to his feet.

“Your sorcerer’s familiar was following me around, by the way,” Ian says. Stiles looks around and realizes that Wilma’s not in the room. He hadn’t noticed her leaving. “He seemed to take comfort in her presence, so she stayed in there while I came to get you. Are you aware that he’s just a larva, by the way?”

“A – a what?” several people ask.

“You know, a larva,” Ian says. “Whatever you call your young.”

“Well, we certainly don’t call them larva,” Derek says with a snort.

“A child?” Stiles supplies. “Blaine is a child?” He starts to feel a sinking sensation in his stomach. “How young? Do you know?” he adds, feeling like this is probably a stupid question to ask someone who referred to him as a ‘larva’. Predictably, Ian shrugs. “Well, was he younger than I was, when you first met me?”

“I think so,” Ian says. “Not considerably so. A few years, perhaps.”

Stiles pushes both hands through his hair and then says, “Okay. Derek, Scott, you’re with me. Hunter rules can get fucked, I want you both in your wolf forms. It’ll probably help Blaine feel more comfortable, if he gets along with Wilma. Allison, Lydia, I want you to go find Chris; Isaac, Boyd, go find my dad. I want both of them in the main room by the time I get downstairs with Blaine. Let’s go make a PB&J and deliver it to a larva.”

They head downstairs. It’s quiet there, possibly due to how many people are left after the last few days, or possibly just because people are running out of steam. Some of the hunters are sitting around the fire, talking, but they only give Stiles a brief glance when he comes through. Ian is sitting on his shoulder as a wasp, and goes completely unnoticed. If the hunters are plotting how to get rid of him, he doesn’t particularly care. They’re going to have bigger problems as soon as he gets Blaine out of his hiding hole.

He makes two peanut butter sandwiches with strawberry jelly, because they’re all out of grape. He doubts Blaine will argue. Then he grabs a bottle of unopened juice, and they head back upstairs. Ian takes the lead as a parrot again, and Stiles takes care to move slowly.

The room that Blaine is currently holed up in is empty of furniture or decoration. Rain lashes at the windows, and the wind makes them rattle. He’s in the corner furthest from the door, and Wilma is sitting pressed up against him, an obvious barricade. Stiles can hear his breathing speed up when he pokes his head in, but he doesn’t move, and no birds attack them. “Hey, Blaine,” he says, keeping his voice steady. “I heard you were hungry, so I brought you something.”

He sets the plate on the floor, and settles down in the corner opposite Blaine. After a minute, Scott starts nudging the plate across the floor with his nose. When he gets it close enough to Blaine, his hand creeps out to nab one of the sandwiches. Derek carries the bottle of juice over and sets it down within reach.

“My name is Stiles,” he continues, hoping he can just get him to relax a little. He can still barely see him around Wilma, so it’s impossible to judge his age. “This is Derek and this is Scott. They’re werewolves, and I’m their alpha. You might have heard of me – a lot of people call me the boy in red. I’m here to help you, okay? I know you must have been really scared when you got dumped here. But everything’s going to be okay. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

He continues to ramble while Blaine eats the sandwiches. Wilma settles down after the first one, laying across Blaine’s lap, so Stiles can get a good look at him. He’s relieved to see that Blaine isn’t _that_ young – maybe fourteen or fifteen. Still far too young to have been in Stoddard’s prison, but at least he’s a teenager.

“So you’re Blaine, right?” Stiles asks, as he finishes eating, and he gets a hesitant nod. “I just want to ask you a few questions, okay?” This gets him a suspicious look, but he forges on. “You can do magic, right?”

Blaine nods.

“That’s pretty cool. I have some good friends who do magic. How long have you been doing that?”

After a few moments, Blaine murmurs, “A few years.”

“There was a guy teaching you, right?” Stiles says, and gets another nod. “Was he a nice guy?” he asks, and gets a shrug. “What happened to him?”

Blaine shrinks into himself. Wilma leans up and nudges his chin with her nose, and he clutches at her. “They killed him.”

“And then they put you in their prison, right?” Stiles asks, and Blaine nods. “Don’t worry, I know you didn’t deserve to be there. How long do you think you were there?”

“Maybe a year?” Blaine says. He’s clearly guessing.

“A year, wow, that sucks,” Stiles says. He sees Blaine finish off the bottle of juice. “You still hungry?” he asks, and Blaine nods. “Well, why don’t you come downstairs with me? We can get you some more food and it’s a lot warmer down there. I bet you’d feel a lot better if I made you some hot cocoa and got you a blanket or two. What do you think?”

“I can’t,” Blaine whispers. “ _He’s_ down there.”

“The guy who put you in prison?” Stiles surmises, and Blaine nods. “Don’t worry about him. I won’t let him hurt you.”

Blaine looks skeptical, to put it kindly.

“So, you met Ian, right?” Stiles asks, gesturing to where the shapeshifter is sitting in the windowsill. “He’s not a parrot all the time. He’s a shapeshifter. And I’m going to appoint him your personal bodyguard. No one will be able to hurt you while he’s there. Ian, you want to show him your favorite form?”

“Sure,” Ian squawks. He hops down from the windowsill and shifts halfway down, enlarging to fill the space of the velociraptor.

Blaine’s eyes go wide and for a few moments he’s just a regular teenaged boy. “Whoa,” he breathes out. “That is _so cool_.”

Stiles grins. “I know, right? So Ian will stick right by you. You won’t always be able to see him, but he’s going to keep you safe, okay?”

“Okay.” Blaine gets to his feet. He’s unsteady, but Wilma and Scott both press against his legs, steadying him. Ian shifts back into the parrot form and perches on Blaine’s shoulder. It’s not optimal, but if anyone asks questions, Stiles will just say that it’s his familiar. They head downstairs. The pack has gathered there in a corner, and Chris and Tom are both there, which is a relief.

As he expected, their entrance draws attention this time. Ian is a spot of bright color that’s almost impossible to miss in the lodge’s gloomy interior. The fact that he’s perched on Blaine’s shoulder makes everyone stare at them, and Chris gets the ball rolling by asking, “Who’s that?”

“That,” Stiles says, “is Blaine Acklin. Derek, Scott, will you take him into the kitchen and get him something hot?” he adds, and both wolves nod, steering Blaine in that direction.

“Isn’t he one of the sorcerers we’ve been trying to capture?” Vanessa asks. Her tone is wary; she’s not jumping to conclusions but she isn’t sure what Stiles is up to, either.

“Yes, and I just captured him,” Stiles says, “with two PB&Js, a bottle of juice, and by not being an asshole. We’re going to get him a nice warm drink and a blanket and then we’re going to take him upstairs so he can get some rest.”

Tom is looking hard in the direction that Blaine went. “That kid came from the prison.”

“Yep,” Stiles says, and prepares to hastily back up.

“He can’t be more than sixteen years old,” Tom says flatly.

“I would have guessed fifteen, myself, and he said he’s been there for about a year,” Stiles says.

Tom takes a deep breath. He seems to think about this for a long minute, and then he gives a decisive nod. “Okay,” he says, and heads over to where the Jim Stoddard is standing with a few of his henchmen. “Sir, please put your hands behind your back,” Tom says. “You’re under arrest.”

“I’m under – excuse me?” Jim asks. He looks unimpressed.

“You’re under arrest,” Tom repeats, “for kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment, probably assault, almost certainly more charges once I’ve had a chance to interview that boy. That _boy_ , who you were keeping in your godforsaken prison.”

“He’s a warlock!” Jim blusters.

“He’s a _child_ ,” Tom says, his voice cold and unyielding. “Maybe he did get into some dark magic. I would believe that. If his mentor was into it, it’s possible that he was doing it too. But he was too young to have the capacity to understand why it was wrong, and that’s if his mentor didn’t coerce him into it, or get him hooked on it. There are solutions for children like that which don’t involve putting them in prison and torturing them.”

“We don’t torture the humans in the prison,” Jim says, sneering.

“Yes, you do,” Stiles says quietly. “I know that, because of what happened when I was in the Nazario prison. The woman there who experimented on me mentioned several times that my time or strength or whatever was being measured was above the human mean. That means you _had_ a human mean, which means that you did the same experiments on humans.”

“Maybe the Nazarios did,” Jim says. “That doesn’t mean we did.”

“Frankly, I don’t care,” Tom says. “Even if you never laid a finger on him, you’re still under arrest for kidnapping and imprisonment. I’ve looked the other way at everything else you’ve done, but I cannot, _will not_ , overlook this. Now put your hands behind your back.”

“How the hell are you going to arrest me?” Jim says. “We’re still trapped on this island, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Well,” Tom says, “first of all, I plan to put these handcuffs on you. Secondly, I intend to secure the handcuffs to something else. Then, I’m going to leave you there until such time as we get _off_ this island, at which point I will turn you over to the local authorities for processing.”

“Nobody around here is going to prosecute me for anything,” Jim says, looking altogether too proud of himself for that. “I’ve got them all under my thumb, Stilinski, so you can do what you want, but as soon as this storm is over, I’m out of here.”

Tom’s face goes blank. He’s silent for a long minute. “I see,” he finally says. “You want to do this the hard way.”

“Oh shit,” Stiles breathes out, trying not to betray how much he’s enjoying this.

“Okay, Mr. Stoddard,” Tom says. “Let’s say that they choose not to prosecute you. That’s fine. I’ll open a federal investigation of you. I have friends in the FBI. And you have weapons contracts overseas. People at DHS and FBI will be very interested to hear about your habits of bribing officials to get criminal charges against you dropped. And let’s say that doesn’t go anywhere, either. Okay. I don’t mind. Because you’re still dependent on your backers, and on your business contacts. And you do _know_ the conclusions people will draw when they find out that you abducted and imprisoned a fourteen year old boy, right? You do _know_ that nobody wants to do business with a pedophile, right?”

Jim sputters. “That’s not – it isn’t – ”

“You think the truth will matter? What are you going to do, tell the people you sell security systems to that you were actually holding him prisoner because he’s a warlock? Yeah, good luck with that. Then they’ll just all think you’re crazy. No, I’ll make sure everyone knows that you’ve got a taste for boys. They’ll drop you like a hot potato. So let me be very clear on this, Stoddard: you’re done. One way or another, whatever it takes, I’m going to make sure you’re done. Now, for the last time, put your hands behind your back, because you’re under arrest.”

“This isn’t over,” Jim says, as Tom takes his wrist and pulls it around behind his back. “You think I’m done, you have no idea the friends I have, the people I know – ”

“I should probably mention that you have the right to remain silent,” Tom says, “before you start talking about bribing more officials. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. So you should probably think about shutting the hell up. Can one of you fine werewolves give me a hand with this?”

Erica grins and grabs a poker from the fireplace. “Where do you want it, Papa Stilinski?”

“Right about here,” he says, gesturing to waist level, so it won’t be too uncomfortable for Stoddard. She slots one end of the poker through a link in the handcuffs, and then slams it into the wall. Jim gives a hiss of discomfort and anger. Tom tugs on the poker for a minute until he’s sure that it’s secure in the wall and that Jim won’t be able to pull it out. “Thank you, Erica.”

“My pleasure,” she says, and bounces over to Stiles. “Damn. Your dad is so hot, for real.”

“Hotter than me?” Stiles asks, tugging on her braid.

“Hell yes,” she says, and he laughs.

“Wait,” Ned Stoddard says suddenly. “Wait a second. If Dante DeLuca is dead, and Blaine Acklin is . . . taken in hand, then . . . why is it still storming outside? Blaine doesn’t seem like the type who would be doing it, but it can’t have been Dante, or it would be over by now. So who the hell is keeping us on this island?”

“Whoever got them out of the prison,” Stiles says. “Whichever warlock transported them here, and planned this entire thing. This was all orchestrated by somebody. Somebody who has been on this island, watching us scramble, and enjoying the hell out of him or herself.”

“Okay,” Hannah Winchester says, “but we’re still no closer to knowing who the hell that is.”

“Oh, I know exactly who it is,” Stiles says. “I figured that out the day the storm started. It’s the same person who’s been targeting me for years. The same person who convinced Ruben Gutierrez to team up with Gabriel Khan and frame me for murder. The same person who was Liliana Santos’ confidante and got her killed. The same person who manipulated Jonas Aronsson into trying to kill his father, and the same person who killed Henry and Rose Argent. It’s been her all along.”

Everyone stares at him, including Sally. She looks fascinated.

“She’s a sorcerer,” Stiles says, “who hates me because I killed her father.” He looks at Sally and gives her a slight smile. “And her name is Sarah Stone.”

There’s a pause while the assembled hunters roll this around in their heads and seem to agree that it actually makes sense. “Okay,” Ned Stoddard says. “But if she’s here, we sure as hell can’t find her. We’ve been through this lodge dozens of times. She might not be on the island. This storm could be spun up from the mainland easily enough.”

“Which doesn’t help us very much,” Hannah says.

“Right,” Stiles says. “It’s a game. My guess is, the storm will end when we’ve killed all the threats on the island – or contained them, like Blaine and Janea. She must have some way of seeing what’s going on, but I don’t know what that would be.”

“And we still have no idea exactly how many of what creatures she brought to the island,” Vanessa says, then shrugs and continues in a matter-of-fact tone. “At least we’re making progress. We’re bound to get through them all eventually.”

Stiles nods as Derek and Scott come back with Blaine in between them. He’s clutching a mug and wrapped in a blanket, but he looks better, with a little more color in his cheeks. He’s also swaying from side to side as he walks. He’s probably been up for days, and he’s been using magic whenever he’s threatened. As much as Stiles wants his help with Deaton right away, he’s going to need to rest first. But it’s progress, like Vanessa said, and he’ll take it.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning that this chapter contains some violence that might be considered disturbing.
> 
> On the other hand, it also contains Justin being a stone cold badass, so there's that. =D

 

Blaine looks uncertainly at where Jim has been handcuffed to the wall, then back to Stiles. With a reassuring smile, Stiles says, “Hey, you feeling better? Let’s get you to a place where you can get some sleep.”

“We can’t put him in with the other kids,” Hannah says, sounding somewhat dubious.

“No, he can stay with Janea and her pack,” Stiles says. He glances at Justin to confirm that this is okay with him, and he nods. “She can keep an eye on him. I think it’ll help keep her occupied, too, to have someone to look after.”

Depending on Blaine’s mental state once he’s gotten some rest and is able to let his guard down, it might be a good long-term solution, too. Stiles doesn’t want to have to call Oblivion for Blaine if he doesn’t have to. Deaton will be able to judge how strong his connection to black magic is. If it’s too strong, Deaton can bind it or strip him of his powers. Either way, Stiles thinks that it might be better in the long-term to send Blaine to live with a werewolf pack than anyone else. They’ll take care of him, and God only knew that Janea will be desperate for new pack members after losing so many.

“I’ll go up with you,” Justin says. “Introduce him and such.”

Blaine looks nervous, but after another glance at Stiles, he agrees. Stiles takes a few of the pack members and delivers him to Janea’s room. Allison opens up the mountain ash circle so he can go inside. He’s okay up until Ian leaves his shoulder and flies back to Stiles’. “Can’t he stay with me?”

“Sorry, buddy,” Stiles says. “I need Ian to be my bodyguard out here. You’ll be safe as houses in there, I promise.”

After a moment, Blaine looks around at the wolves, and nods. He goes and sits just close enough to one that he can probably feel the warmth of their body, and Allison closes the mountain ash circle.

“Now what?” she asks, as they head downstairs.

“Now nothing. Blaine needs to get some rest before he’ll be able to help us with anything.” They all head back towards the stairs. They’re almost there when the door to one of the rooms opens and a man walks out. Stiles recognizes him instantly as the man who had asked him about Jim Stoddard while the house was a maze. The scent and the feeling of _alpha_ immediately washes over him, and he has to shove back the snarling instincts that tell him to go on the defensive.

The man looks at him blankly, and then says in that same polite, distant voice, “Excuse me. Do you know where I can find Jim Stoddard?”

Stiles is trying to decide whether or not to respond when Justin says, “Troy? Troy Simmons! What are you doing – ”

The question breaks off halfway through as Justin realizes he already knows the answer. His eyes flare crimson, and Stiles is pretty sure that _everyone_ in the house can feel that rush of alpha power. The man, apparently Troy, blinks at Justin without comprehension, seeming unfazed by the sudden surge of power.

“Where are the others?” Justin asks, his voice even. “Where’s Emma?”

“Gone,” Troy says. “All gone. Justin, do you know where I can find Jim Stoddard?”

“As it happens, I do.” Justin is still outwardly calm, but his eyes are still shining crimson. “How about we go downstairs and kill the son of a bitch?”

Troy is silent for a long minute, and Stiles is thinking about what Peter had said about him, wondering how Peter had been able to sense that brokenness in him. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, that would – then I could rest, maybe.”

“Super.” Justin has him by the elbow and is leading him downstairs. Stiles follows, because he’s sure as hell not about to get in Justin’s way. Allison opens her mouth like she’s going to make some sort of protest, and then changes her mind. They get down to the main lobby and Justin immediately makes a splash by shouting, “Sheriff Stilinski!”

When everyone turns to look at him, the sheriff included, Justin continues, “You got the keys for those cuffs? Because I want you to unchain him so I can rip his God damned head off!”

“What – what’s happening?” Ned Stoddard asks. He sounds alarmed and strangely shaken.

“You,” Troy breathes out as he catches sight of Jim, chained to the wall. The word becomes a snarl and then a howl as he changes into an alpha form easily as massive as Peter had been. “You!”

“Hang on half a sec, Troy,” Justin says, but Troy leaps forward, struggling against his grasp, still howling. “Shit, I can’t – Yas! Rindi!”

It takes three alphas to pin Troy to the floor, and once he’s down, Chris asks, “What the hell is going on?”

Justin’s out of breath and still fighting for composure. “This is Troy Simmons. We go way back. He was actually the first alpha that we tested after I joined the pack, under Trevor’s tenure. And even though he was scared out of his wits, he still somehow noticed how nervous I was, and even took the time to give me a few reassuring words. He had a wife back then. Nice lady, name was Emma, lots of freckles.” Justin’s voice is turning to a snarl, as much as he tries to control it. “They had about half a dozen pack members. Good people. One of the few alphas who seemed to instinctually understand the need for the trial. That was, what, fifteen years ago? They’d had kids since then. He sent me some photos, at Christmas and stuff.”

The room is silent. Nobody dares to breathe. Justin stabs a finger at Jim Stoddard and says, “Then _this misbegotten bastard_ threw them in his prison, and now they’re all dead except Troy. And he would, understandably, like Jim’s head on a spike, and you know what? I’m inclined to let him fucking have it.”

Chris steps forward. His hands are raised in surrender, making it very clear that he doesn’t want to fight, he just wants to talk. But before he can say anything, Jim tries to pull free of the wall, rattling the handcuffs. “Let me out of these God damned things and I’ll be happy to give him his own head!”

Chris turns to Jim and barks, “Shut up!”

“Jesus, Jim,” Ned says, still shaken.

Chris takes a deep breath and says to Justin, “I understand where you’re coming from. But Jim is going to pay for his crimes. We’re going to make sure of that.”

“Look, that’s swell,” Justin says, “and amazingly, I actually do believe that you mean it, and Sheriff Stilinski sure as hell obviously does. So, you know, thanks for your consideration, but hard pass.”

It’s clear that Chris doesn’t know what to say to that. Hannah Winchester speaks up, saying, “We can’t just execute him.”

“Would you like to give me one fucking reason why not?” Justin asks. “For decades, fucking _centuries_ , you assholes have been happy to execute us, given the least provocation.”

“Werewolves can’t be held in prison; humans can,” Hannah says. “Jim can go to jail for his crimes.”

“Just like Troy went to jail for his?” Justin asks, his tone incredulous. “I’m sorry, but no. You know, I came to this Conclave thinking maybe I could make some inroads for diplomacy, try to get you people to realize that we don’t all deserve to be shot on sight, but fuck this noise. As far as I can tell, there’s only about three hunters here who don’t deserve to be thrown into the God damned ocean right now. Because even those of you who aren’t guilty by commission, you’re guilty by omission. You’ve all looked the other way when guys like Jim did their thing, made excuses for him, told yourselves that we had done something to deserve it, and I am _fucking_ sick of it. If you can demand our execution every time we breathe funny, I am _well_ within my rights to demand his.”

“But the whole idea is that we’re trying to come to some, some sort of understanding, a truce as it were,” Angela says. “We can’t start that by letting you kill one of our own.”

“So we have to be the ones to extend every single olive branch?” Justin retorts. “We have to look the other way and forgive the mountains of dead bodies you’ve created, because _now_ you’re willing to admit that maybe you shouldn’t have created them? You can take your truce and shove it up your – ”

“Enough!” Stiles’ voice is loud enough that it brings everybody to silence. “We can debate the merits of turning the other cheek later. What we have right now is an either/or situation, because one of these two men is going to die. Troy is an alpha who has lost his lupa, lost his pack. Believe me when I say that he will _never_ stop until Jim Stoddard is dead. So either you kill Troy, or you let him kill Jim. Those are the only two options. So what you need to do is weigh the individuals against each other. On the one hand we have a werewolf who has never harmed anybody, whose wife, whose _children_ have been slaughtered. On the other we have a hunter who has killed countless innocents, who has spent the last week lying to you, denying responsibility for his actions, and showing exactly zero remorse. So if anyone in this room can offer me a compelling argument for why he’s the one who deserves to live, I’m all ears.”

The room is so quiet that it’s suffocating. Nobody even moves, as if they’re afraid that Stiles might call on them to speak up like a strict school teacher. Even Ned Stoddard is staring at the floor.

Finally, it’s Tom who breaks the silence. He walks forward, his keys jingling. “Okay,” he says. His voice is firm, without the slightest waver. “But we can’t do it like this. We can’t let Troy kill a shackled, unarmed man. Jim, you said you think you can take him?” He unlocks the handcuffs. “You’ve got thirty seconds to go to your gear and grab whatever you want. Now clear some space.”

Everyone moves with alacrity, backing up to the walls of the room.

Chris turns to Ned, who’s gone dead white under his tan. “Ned, can you confirm that Troy’s family was killed in your prison?”

Ned swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down visibly. His voice is barely a whisper. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about them.”

“Trust me, they’re dead,” Justin says. “If they weren’t, Troy would know.”

“Then is this acceptable?” Tom asks Justin.

Justin is clearly thinking it over, and then he nods. “As long as he’s still arrested if he lives.”

“Trust me, if he lives, he’s definitely still arrested,” Tom says. The two of them watch as Jim grabs what looks like a Kevlar vest, along with a bunch of weapons. Tom’s face is creased in a frown, but he looks more tired than anything else. Stiles thinks about asking why he’s doing this, but he realizes that he knows exactly why. Because Tom Stilinski knows exactly what an alpha out for revenge is capable of. He knows that they can’t stop Troy. But he also can’t let the death of an unarmed man sit on his conscience.

“Let him go,” Justin says to the other alphas, and they practically wind up being thrown across the room the instant they loosen their grip. Troy springs forward, howling as he goes.

Jim shoots him at least four times in midair, and it doesn’t slow him down even though his blood liberally splashes the walls and the floor. He lands on the hunter in a tackle and sends them both sprawling, but his claws can’t get through Jim’s body armor. Two more shots hit him at point blank range, and his grip loosens enough for Jim to push him off.

The hunter pushes his advantage, pinning Troy to the floor with a knife at his throat. Troy grabs it by the blade and forces it back, and Jim’s wrist breaks with a sharp crack. He lets out a breathless grunt and jerks backwards involuntarily. Troy throws him off and gets to his feet, blood dripping from his throat and his hands. Six bullets don’t seem to have slowed him down at all. He grabs one of the chairs and hurls it at Jim. He ducks, and the chair shatters into splinters when it hits the wall.

Troy keeps throwing things as he advances, and Jim holds his ground.  When the alpha gets close enough to reach for him, Jim sidesteps and then drives the knife into his side. It’s a good shot, the clinical portion of Stiles notes – through the ribs and right into the chest cavity. Only Troy jerking back at the last second prevents it from hitting his heart.

Stiles glances at Justin, but he’s standing there with a stone face. So is everybody, for that matter. Some of the hunters look troubled, some of them look sick. But none of them are shouting encouragement, which Stiles takes as progress. He’s sure that this would have had a much more celebratory feel on the first day of the Conclave.

Troy yanks the knife out and throws it to the ground with a clatter. Blood splashes onto the floor. He staggers and goes to one knee. Jim grabs one of the few chairs left standing and lifts it up above his head, then swings it downward with brutal force.

It breaks over Troy’s head, and with the wood flying everywhere, at first nobody figures out why Jim isn’t reigning in triumph. Then Stiles sees what Troy did, allowing Jim to wield the chair so his hands were busy. Troy has reached up through the wood and gotten both hands around Jim’s throat. He’s on his feet now, holding Jim a few inches off the ground. The hunter’s feet are kicking for purchase as his hands pry at Troy’s. He realizes quickly that the effort is fruitless and goes for another weapon, instead, a canister of what looks like pepper spray. It’s presumably laced with wolfsbane, but Troy doesn’t even flinch when Jim empties it into his face. His grip on Jim’s neck only tightens. A moment later, there’s a noise almost like a crunch, a noise that Stiles suspects will haunt his nightmares, and Jim’s body goes slack.

The room is silent as the body falls to the floor. Stiles glances around to see the reactions, and is relieved to see that there isn’t much anger. Most of the remaining hunters look sick. Ned has turned away, his face pale and hands trembling. Stiles doesn’t dare look at Sally. He just doesn’t want to know.

Troy goes to his knees, head tilted towards the sky. His mouth is moving, but he’s not saying anything out loud. Blood drips down his neck. The wounds Jim had inflicted aren’t healing. Stiles isn’t really surprised.

“You should kill him,” Peter says.

“I know,” Stiles says.

“It would be a mercy.”

“I know.”

Nobody says anything as Troy folds inwards, curling into fetal position, sobs tearing through his body so hard that Stiles aches just from watching. Nobody moves except Justin. He walks forward and kneels beside Troy. He doesn’t try to lift him up, but just embraces him from behind, one arm crossing over Troy’s abdomen and the other over his chest.

It’s the same way that Derek held Stiles for the first time, that long-past day in Tom Stilinski’s hospital room, and Stiles wants to turn away. But he doesn’t.

“Justin, please . . . please . . .” Troy sobs.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Justin murmurs, barely audible. “I’m going to take care of you, Troy. You’re going to be fine. I’m here. Everything’s going to be okay.”

What happens next happens so fast that Stiles can’t track it. One moment Justin is holding onto Troy from behind. The next, he’s moved his arms upwards, once across Troy’s neck, the other coming around to grab his chin. His muscles tense suddenly and there’s a sickening crack. Troy’s body drops limply to the floor as there’s an audible gasp throughout the room.

“What . . . why . . .” Several hunters seem too shocked to adequately formulate the question.

“Because that was the only thing that could be done,” Justin says. He stands up. His cheeks are soaked with tears, but his eyes are still glowing red. “Next time you hunters think that werewolves don’t have control, I want you to picture this moment. I want you to really think about how much control it takes me not to kill every single one of you who ever looked the other way while my brothers and sisters suffered. Control? You don’t know the meaning of the word. You’ll _never_ understand how much control we have.”

Justin turns and walks out of the room. After a bare moment, the rest of the alpha pack stands up and follows.

“Take those bodies down to what’s left of the morgue,” Chris says quietly, and several of the hunters jump to obey, glad for a chance to get out of the terrible atmosphere that Justin’s words have left.

The room is silent until Francisco Gutierrez speaks up, directing his words at Stiles. “You lied to us. If you had told us that Troy was dead either way, we wouldn’t have let him kill Jim.”

The rage that wants to spill out of Stiles’ mouth is so thick that he can practically taste it. “If you didn’t know enough about werewolves to have realized that yourself, it wasn’t my problem, you piece of shit.”

Tom comes up behind Stiles and squeezes his shoulders gently. “Hey,” he says. “Let’s all take a break. Okay, Stiles? Let’s just walk away for a minute.”

Stiles nods and allows his father to pull him out of the room. Several of his packmates trail after him, and the room falls back into silence.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

For a long time, everyone in the main room just sits around and stares into space. There are a few murmured conversations, but not many. Nobody knows what to say. Any conversation about what to do or how they’re going to get off the island has, by silent agreement, been postponed. They poke at the fire and try not to think too hard about the events of the previous hour.

Before long, Allison can’t stand it anymore. It feels like the world’s worst funeral for a guy that she didn’t even like. She gets to her feet and says, “I need to go use the restroom. Anyone want to go with me?”

“I will.” Victoria stands up, and the two of them head out into the darkened lodge to the restrooms on the main floor. Allison doesn’t even really need to use them; she just wants to get away for a little while.

As soon as they enter, Allison hears the noise of someone quickly trying to stifle a sob. Concerned, she looks down the line of stalls and sees someone sitting on the floor. She gives the stall door a gentle knock. “You okay in there?”

“Go away!” a voice replies.

“It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone,” Allison says. “We just want to help.”

After a minute, the lock clicks, and the door eases open. Allison is surprised to see Stella Jones wobble out of the stall. She’s human again, not a werewolf feature to be seen. One look in the mirror is all it takes to get her crying again. Allison and Victoria both grab her and help her slide to the floor.

“Are you hurt?” Victoria asks, and Stella shakes her head. Victoria gets some paper towels, and the three of them wind up sitting on the bathroom floor together. “What’s wrong?”

“I changed back,” Stella says dully, looking at her hands, the blunt fingernails instead of claws. “When that alpha was crying, I just thought – my God, they’re more like us than I ever could have imagined. And I just . . . changed back.”

“Why does that upset you?” Victoria asks, sounding somewhat wary.

Stella is still staring down, not looking at either of the Argent ladies. “I never cared much about hunting when I was young. It wasn’t my idea of a good time. I had friends, family who did it, but – I had more important things to do. I was an athlete. Did shot put and javelin. Nearly qualified for the Olympics, too. Got a shelf of trophies back home. Married a football player. We got divorced a few years later and fell out of touch. And just before my fortieth birthday is when my daughter was killed.”

Allison remembers Chris mentioning that Stella’s daughter had been killed by werewolves, but she had never heard any details. She opens her mouth to ask, but then falls silent. Stella will tell them what she wants, and she doesn’t want to push.

“She was seventeen. Just about to graduate high school. And she – ” Stella shudders. “She wasn’t killed on a hunt or anything like that. She was out on a date. The guy tried to take her home and she said no, and he got – violent.” Stella closes her eyes and bites out another sob. “It has to have been because he was a werewolf, right? I told myself that. Because if I could get good at hunting, if I could kill all the werewolves, nobody would ever – what happened to Sydney would never happen to anyone else. I had to do something. It couldn’t have just been – random. I had to do _something_ , or else I would have gone insane.”

“I understand,” Victoria says, her voice quiet and even. “If anything ever happened to Allison, I would destroy anyone who had ever even looked at her.”

Stella chokes back another sob. “I’ve spent the last decade hunting down werewolves to try to save people’s daughters. And all I did was become the thing I hated. I helped take that werewolf’s body down to the morgue. He had a tattoo of his wife – on his back. She looked – a little like Sydney. She was someone’s daughter, too. And now she’s dead. I might not have killed her. But I didn’t do anything to save her, either. Sydney would be – so disappointed in me.”

Victoria reaches out and squeezes Stella’s hand. “I think Sydney would understand. I think she knows how much pain you’re in. And it’s hard to think straight when you’re in pain. We all make mistakes, Stella. And it takes a very brave person to admit that they were wrong. I think if you want Sydney to be proud, all you need to do is start trying to help people again.”

After a moment, Stella lets out a shuddering breath. She nods and wipes her. Then she looks up at Allison. “I’m – sorry. For what I’ve done to your pack.”

“Thank you,” Allison says. She reaches out and takes Stella’s hand. “I won’t say ‘it’s okay’ because it wasn’t, but I appreciate the apology. And I accept it, on behalf of my alpha.”

They help Stella to her feet. She’s a little wobbly, but upright. “There are some people I need to talk to. People who are . . . unhappy with what happened to Jim. To some of the others. I know that some of the people who were killed were trying to collect the bounty on Stiles. Everyone knows that he or one of your pack killed them. Presumably in self-defense, but . . . that doesn’t make them okay with it. But I’ll talk to them. I’ll get it straightened out somehow.”

Victoria nods. “Let us know if you need anything.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Stiles doesn’t want to risk waiting any longer. The plan he’s concocted can only work at night, and if they don’t do it this night, they’ll have to suffer through an entire other day. He’s just not sure they’ll make it. As evening rolls around, he hopes that Blaine has rested enough. It’s been about six hours since he fell asleep in the room with Janea’s pack, and Stiles goes to get him.

He’s tired, but easily roused. To say that he’s dubious about the idea of helping them revive Deaton is putting it mildly. It takes Stiles and Jackson over an hour to talk him into even trying it, and he balks as soon as he gets into the room with Deaton.

“Come on, buddy, you were doing plenty of magic earlier,” Stiles says, trying not to sound impatient.

“That was different,” Blaine says.

Stiles opens his mouth and Jackson shoots him a look. In a voice that’s surprisingly gentle, Jackson says, “Look, I know you’re scared, okay? I know that it’s been a long time since you’ve done magic with someone else, and you probably never did it with anyone besides the guy who taught you. But I’m gonna be just fine, okay? Even if you screw up, I’ll still be fine, because I can pull us out of it.”

Blaine hesitates. “You promise?”

“I promise,” Jackson says.

“Well . . . okay, then. I guess I can at least give it a shot.”

Stiles is raring to get going, but magic users never seem to be in a rush. Even snarly, sullen Jackson seems to share that trait. He sits down with Blaine and first explains the spell, then has them do some weird psychic linking thing. Then he wants to show Blaine what might happen, and practice a few times so Blaine can get used to it.

It’s all very sensible to take so many precautions, but Stiles still wants to scream at them to get on with it. Finally, after nearly another hour, Jackson waves a hand and the ice around Deaton’s body disappears in a puff of steam.

After all that, Stiles expects that the spell will take another four hours, but it’s surprisingly quick. It takes two minutes, tops, before Deaton opens his eyes. He focuses on Stiles almost immediately and says, “Well, there’s no water elemental, I can definitely say that.”

Stiles laughs weakly. “Yeah. We got that.”

At this, Deaton takes more stock of his surroundings and realizes that something is amiss. “Oh dear,” he says, in his usual reserved way. He tries to sit up and fails. Jackson is smiling for once, and Blaine is actually beaming, clearly thrilled that he was able to do some magic that helped somebody. “Who’s our new friend?” Deaton asks, as Jackson and Stiles get him propped up on some pillows.

“This is Blaine,” Jackson says. “A lot of shit has happened. You thirsty?”

“Parched,” Deaton says, and Scott hands him a glass of water. Stiles and Jackson quickly sum up the events of the past few days.

“So now that you’re awake, we can spring the trap,” Stiles says.

“And what is the trap?” Deaton asks.

“The only way we can deal with Sally without causing a civil war is if we expose her for who she is,” Stiles says.

“Do you really think so?” Jackson asks. “Even now? Most of the people who would have had a huge problem with it are dead by now.”

“Most, but not all,” Stiles says. “I don’t want to take chances. And if her father was anyone else, I might try it. But Ned Stoddard just watched his brother get killed. I don’t think we want to push him right now by trying to convince him of what Sally is without evidence. Which we can get, if we’re sneaky enough. She’s being cautious. When I tried to talk to her earlier, she made sure I couldn’t record her. But if we can get her into a place where we can hide a live audience using an illusion spell, I think we could get it done.”

Deaton is frowning. “Sally is suspicious enough that it won’t just be enough that she can’t see anyone eavesdropping. She’ll have to know, or think she knows, that nobody is there.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. “We need her to think everyone else is in the main room.”

“That’s a lot of illusory magic,” Deaton says.

“Well, not necessarily, because you won’t have to do both at once,” Stiles says. “We need to get her to leave the main room somehow. Then while she’s gone, we empty everyone else out and set up the illusion that they’re still there. I think we can take them to the basement – it’s pretty big. Then when Sally comes back in, before she can realize it’s an illusion, we have to get her to the basement.”

“The timing is going to be tricky as hell,” Jackson says. “Plus you’re going to need to get her to leave the room twice without her catching on.”

“She leaves the room every night to have a little privacy to fuel the storm,” Stiles says, gesturing. “We haven’t seen her do it, but she must, because she’s sure as hell not doing it in the main room. I don’t know how big a window that will get us, maybe ten minutes or so, but it’s better than nothing.”

“It’ll be longer than that,” Deaton says. He continues to take small sips of the water. “This type of spell might seem easy in theory, but in practice it’s quite difficult. Any spell that affects the weather is complicated.”

“Why?” Stiles asks, curious.

“Well, because weather is unpredictable. Here’s an example – back when Jackson sabotaged your car, he cut your brake line. He couldn’t just say ‘alakazaam’ and hex your car in a general manner. He had to understand enough about mechanics and the function of a car to know _what_ needed to be done. But weather is not simple. There’s no single line you can cut to form rain. You have to understand temperature, humidity, barometric pressure – you have to reach out and take all those factors into account and then influence _each_ factor to get the result you want. Sally’s obviously mastered it – my guess is that she’s been practicing since the last Conclave – but even for a master, it’s not something that would be quick. From start to finish, it probably takes her about an hour.”

Stiles is nodding. “Okay. That’s good. It gives us time to explain to the other hunters and set up everything we need. The problem is, we won’t see her leave. She uses some sort of invisibility or camouflage spell to get out of the room.”

“Okay, but her bed will still be empty,” Jackson says. “There’s no way she’s doing an illusion spell to make it look like she’s there, and the weather spell, at the same time. We’ve just never noticed she was gone because, well, we never looked. So all we have to do is assign someone, or several someones, to watch Sally and see when her bed is suddenly empty.”

“Good, okay. Then we take the hunters we need down to the basement. Hell, all we really need is Ned, but I’ll take Angela and Hannah too. They’re neutral parties, it’ll be good to have them there.”

“So we might not even need an illusion in the main room,” Jackson says. “If everyone is sleeping, she might not notice that a few people are gone.”

“She’ll check on her dad, I bet,” Stiles says. “At least visually. But otherwise, yeah. Then when I get her out of the room, you drop the spell and pick up the one in the basement instead.”

“Jesus, Stilinski,” Jackson says. “I sure as hell hope you’re paying me for this.”

“How are you going to get her out of the room?” Deaton asks, frowning.

“She can’t resist a chance to brag,” Stiles says. “I’ll talk her into it.”

“But won’t she suspect you want her gone for a reason? Wouldn’t it be easier to intercept her as she comes back from setting the spell?”

“Easier, yes,” Stiles says, “but if she hasn’t _just_ seen her father asleep in his bed, visions of sugarplums, et cetera, then she’ll assume she’s being overheard. We have to let her come back, let her see for herself that everything is okay, and then set the trap.”

After a moment, Deaton nods. “I assume that if Jackson’s doing the illusions, you have a different role in mind for me.”

Stiles nods. “You’re my ace in the hole. Our real advantage is that Sally has no idea that you’re back on your feet. So here’s the plan . . .”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe how close to the end we are. *distant sobbing*

 

The first part of the plan goes down without a hitch. He has two of his wolves on watch, although none of them are sleeping. They’re pretending, lest Sally think something’s up, but he knows that all of them are just lying underneath their blankets in tense anxiety. He feels the same way. It’s a profound relief when Boyd kneels beside him and gives him a little shake. “She’s gone. Probably has been for a couple minutes.”

“Super.” Stiles springs back to his feet and leaps into action. He wakes Chris, who wakes Mikael. He’ll let the two hunters wake the others. Even with her current change of heart, if Stella Jones is shaken awake by a werewolf, she might shoot first and ask questions later. He’s decided to take Stella over Angela. A former enemy makes a great ally. He’d be happy to take Angela and Vanessa as well, but the more people they bring, the greater chance that Sally will notice.

Explanations are brief and minimized. Chris tells the hunters that Stiles has a suspect, that none of them would believe it if he told them, but they’re going to try to get a confession out of her. The hunters are exhausted and ready to believe anything that might get them off the island, so they allow Chris to shepherd them down into the basement. He’ll give them more details once they’re down there. They’ll have time, while they wait for Sally to finish her spell.

Jackson has the illusion spell up and running a few minutes later. Stiles sits down on Sally’s empty sleeping bag with Derek at his feet, and waits.

About forty minutes later, there’s an enormous roll of thunder and the rain suddenly intensifies. Stiles sighs quietly. It would have been nice to intercept Sally _before_ she did the spell that sentences all of them to another day waiting for the surf to subside, but there was no getting around it. She has to come back to the room and ‘see’ that her father is still there. Besides, he wants her tired, and waiting until she’s just completed a long, complicated spell is a good way to accomplish that.

In fact, when Sally walks back into the main lobby and sees Stiles sitting on her bed, she scowls at him. It’s quite a change from her usual cheerful greeting. Scott had been right. Sally is tired. She wants to sleep. It’s the most vulnerable they’re ever going to get her.

“What do you want?” she asks, keeping her voice pitched low.

“To talk.” Stiles stands up and jerks his head towards the foyer.

Sally’s gaze flits around the room. As Stiles had predicted, her gaze lingers on her father where he’s lying asleep. Then she follows Stiles. By the time they get to the foyer, she’s composed herself, and gives him her usual sunny smile. “What would you like to chat about?”

“You owe me a new phone to start with.” Stiles isn’t bothering to sound polite, but he needs to keep her talking. It’ll take Jackson a few minutes to get down to the basement and do the new illusion spell. Stiles just needs to talk, and to be fair, he’s good at that. He takes the cell phone he borrowed from Allison and starts up the flashlight app. “I still can’t get mine to turn on. Had to borrow this one from Allison.” He holds it up so she can see. “Not recording. Please don’t hex this one too.”

“You brought me out here to talk about your phone?”

“No, I brought you out here because I want to know your next move. I mean, let’s be real, Sally Stone. The jig, as they say, is pretty much up. Given the tallies you gave me on the first day, we’ve dealt with all the adversaries. I assume that the trickster was the ‘special surprise’, and you know as well as we do that we’re never going to catch that thing. All the ghouls are dead. The werewolves and sorcerers are either dead, or captured.”

Sally rolls her eyes. “So? I never said that the game was over when you killed all the enemies.”

“Well, for one thing, I’m curious about who gets crowned the winner. I mean, Dante probably got the highest score, right? But I assume that you can’t collect the prize if you’re dead. So does that mean it goes to Janea? She and her pack didn’t kill anyone, but at least they wounded Victoria. Ah, well, I suppose it probably doesn’t matter.”

Sally is just giving him an annoyed look. “If you invited me out here to talk my ear off, I’ve got better things to be doing.”

“Like sleeping, right?” Stiles can’t help but smirk at her. “I know you’re tired, Sally. I’m tired. Hell, I’m fucking exhausted. So why don’t we just call this round over? We can all go home, get some rest, and then you can figure out what the next game should be.”

“Maybe I have a better plan.”

Stiles glances over his shoulder at the lounge as if to exhibit concern that they might wake someone up. He starts walking as he talks, steering Sally down the hallway and towards the stairs that lead to the basement. “Well, that’s exactly why we’re having this conversation. I want to know what your plan is.”

“Why would I tell you?” Sally asks, laughing.

“Oh, I don’t know. Because you like to brag. And hell, I’ll give you this, you’ve done a bang-up job with this.” He starts down the stairs. “I mean, how many hunters have you gotten killed over the past few days? I have to admit that I haven’t been keeping count, but I’m sure you have, right?”

“Sixty-three.” Sally sounds smug.

“Damn, that’s two thirds of the hunter attendees. Not bad, Sally Stone.” They’re in the basement now, and fortunately there hasn’t been any gasps of shock from their audience as they see who they’re escorting. The basement looks dark and deserted. Only the dim light from the cell phone provides any illumination at all. “But seriously, what’s the next move? I mean, from my standpoint, this has gone pretty well. Aside from the dead people, who can’t be blamed on me. Most of the hunters have agreed that werewolves aren’t the devil. So, you know, what I came here for is done. I’d like to go home. And after what happened today with your uncle, I had kind of hoped that we were done. But you had to go spin up the storm again, so I can only assume that you have more plans.”

“No plans,” Sally says, smiling. “Just seeing what happens. Think of it as a psychological experiment. Maybe I just want to see who the last man standing will be.”

“Maybe, but you haven’t thought it through,” Stiles says. “We could have had Jackson build a Way out of here on the second day, remember? Now, he didn’t, because he wasn’t sure he could hold it long enough to get a hundred people through it. But hey, since you’ve thoughtfully engineered the death of two thirds of the Conclave attendees, he could probably manage it now. And that’s only if he wants to go the distance. If we’re willing to dump a bunch of people on the doorstep of some café in Maine, then hell, we could definitely get everyone across.”

“Spoilsport,” Sally says.

“Nobody’s just going to sit here while the food runs out and we eventually have to resort to eating each other. It’s your move, Sally. Because when the sun comes up, I’m going to start evacuating people to the mainland.”

“You could’ve done that days ago, you know.”

“No, I couldn’t. The hunters weren’t willing to leave while the island was still full of nasties, but they’re gone now. Everyone’s dead except us. Okay, yes, my pack could have left days ago. But believe it or not, I wasn’t going to leave people like Chris and Mikael behind to fend for themselves. Allies, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Sally’s eye roll is profound. “Well, you do what you’re going to do, Stiles. And I’ll do what I’m going to do.”

“Well, if that’s your final answer . . .” Stiles shrugs. “I figured it might be. So I brought a special guest.”

He gestures to one side, and Abbie steps out of the darkness. She looks exactly like she did the day they met at Oblivion. Her graying blonde hair is lying limp around her face, and she’s still dressed in a nightgown. Her feet are bare. She reaches for Sally as she steps forward. “Sally,” she says, her voice low and husky. “My dear Sally . . .”

Sally takes an involuntary step backwards, but then stops and rolls her eyes. “Really, Stiles? Really. Do you think I’ve forgotten about your little shapeshifting friend?”

“Who, this shapeshifting friend?” Stiles lifts his arm and Ian flies over from where he’s been sitting on the pool table. He’s in the form of the brilliant red and blue parrot.

“I know what you did!” he croaks, and Stiles has to hold back a snicker.

Sally is clearly taken aback, but she recovers. “Then you’ve got Daddy’s little protégé doing an illusion spell.”

“Hell, no, I’m making sure you don’t sneak out,” Jackson says. He holds up a hand and creates a ball of bright white light. They can finally see into all the corners of the room – or at least all the corners that Jackson is letting them see.

Sally looks back at Abbie slowly, unwillingly. Abbie shuffles forward, her arms open in a gesture of welcome. “Sally, I’m so glad to see you, my sweet little girl.”

“Yes, well, the feeling isn’t mutual.” Sally reaches out with one hand and snaps her finger. A column of fire goes up, and Stiles stumbles back from the sudden, intense heat. Ian squawks and takes off for safer ground. Abbie makes no move to avoid the flames, and they hit her square in the chest. She doesn’t make a sound as the fire consumes her, and a bare moment later, there’s nothing but ash.

“Holy _shit_ , Sally,” Stiles blurts out, and at the same time, someone behind Jackson’s illusion spell cries out in shock.

Sally freezes. Her eyes go wide.

“Drop the curtain,” Stiles says to Jackson, and the illusion spell dissipates to reveal half a dozen stunned hunters. Even Chris looks shocked, despite knowing the sort of thing that Sally was capable of.

“Sally.” Ned’s voice is hoarse. “Sally, was that – did you – are you really – ”

Sally looks from her father over to Stiles. She stamps her foot like a child having a tantrum. “No fair!”

Stiles knows that the next column of flame is going to be aimed at him, but there’s just no time to move. He has a bare moment to realize it before a wall of ice springs up in front of him. The flames splash against the ice, and Sally screams in frustration. Derek, partially shifted, grabs Stiles and flings them both into the cover behind the pool table that several of the werewolves just upended.

“Stop it!” Sally screams at Jackson, as he tosses chunks of ice at her. “Stop it, stop it, stop it!”

She flings her hand out to one side, and an enormous wind suddenly howls into life. The piece of ice Jackson has just thrown, whirls around the sudden tornado and comes back at him. It hits him right in the gut, and he goes tumbling backwards. He has just enough time to toss up another wall of ice before a gout of flame shaped like a lance heads towards him. The ice shatters into a hundred pieces. Jackson is left sprawled on the ground, looking a little surprised.

Sally stabs a finger forward and shouts words that are vaguely familiar to Stiles. An exorcising spell.

“No!” Jackson yelps, but it’s too late. His body spasms and writhes as she hits them with the spell. There’s a brilliant flash of white light and a sudden snap of vicious cold that evaporates instants later. “Fuck!”

Sally screams in defiance and pushes the wall of wind outwards. It catches everything in a ten foot radius, sending people and furniture scattering everywhere. Stiles manages to catch himself before he goes flying into a wall, but he’s out of good ideas. While Sally is controlling the wind, nobody is going to be able to get anything near her. The arrow that Allison shoots just spins around and drops harmlessly to the floor.

Suddenly, he hears a voice. It’s a familiar voice, masculine, an almost pleasant tenor. He’s shouting to be heard over the wind, yet somehow the voice seems completely calm. “My darling daughter. As powerful as you are, I am stronger still.”

The wind dies. The room is abruptly quiet. Sally’s eyes are wide as she looks around wildly, trying to locate the voice. “D-Daddy?”

Stiles grabs a pool cue and sweeps it forward. It catches Sally just behind the knees, and she lets out a yelp as she tumbles to the ground. Moments later, a cloud of mountain ash comes down around her and settles into a neat circle.

Sally looks around, looks at the circle, and scowls. “Sonuvabitch!”

Everyone has to take a moment to breathe and check for casualties. Stiles hurries over to where Deaton is standing, as calm as ever. “Jesus, I thought you might be dead,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if you’d done an illusion of Abbie or if you’d actually disguised yourself as her.”

“Well, Stiles, I’m many things, but stupid isn’t one of them.” Deaton is looking at Sally with a complex expression on his face. Sorrow, pain, resignation. “Sorry it took me a minute to subdue her. I was never as good at the haikus as Sebastian was.”

Stiles has to laugh at that, and he knows there’s a note of hysteria in his voice. He looks over at the others. The pack has some minor injuries, but they’re healing. Hannah got smacked in the face with a pool ball in the tornado, and blood is trickling down her chin. Other than that, the hunters are unscathed. Danny and Lydia are helping Jackson to his feet. “Are you okay? Jesus, I’m sorry. Is Marzanna – ”

“Whatever, jerk,” Jackson says, but he’s obviously shaken. “I guess I can always summon it back if I decide I want to.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. He turns back to Sally. She’s standing with her arms folded over her chest, lower lip sticking out in a pout. “That wasn’t fair.”

“All’s fair in love and war.” Stiles takes another moment. “No more illusions, no more body doubles. You’re caught and you know it. So this is a one-time offer. Let Deaton strip your magic, and we can send you to Oblivion. I don’t think – ” His voice cracks. “What you are isn’t entirely your fault, Sally. I know that having Sebastian in your head never gave you any choice about who you were going to be. I’ll kill you if I have to, but if your magic is stripped, Oblivion will be able to contain you.”

There’s a slight gleam in Sally’s eyes. “Oh, all right. If you insist.”

Stiles rubs both hands over his face. “Sally. Do you think I’m a fucking idiot? Did you agree that quickly _just_ to prove that you didn’t really mean it? If you agree, before you leave that circle, you’re going to swear a binding oath that you’ll never harm another person as long as you live. Particularly not Deaton, while he’s stripping your magic.”

Sally’s pout turns into a full-on sulk. “You can’t seriously expect me to agree to that, Stiles. You’re no fun anymore!”

There’s a sudden scuffle on the other side of the room. Stiles hears Chris shout, “Ned, wait!” and looks over just in time to see Ned Stoddard raise his gun and pull the trigger. He puts two bullets squarely into Sally’s chest. The blonde looks surprised for a bare moment that seems to last an eternity, and then crumples to the ground.

“Jesus,” Chris swears. “Jesus, Ned. That was your _daughter_.”

Ned looks between Sally and Chris, and says, simply, “She was a monster.”

Stiles jogs over to where Sally’s laying in a heap. He sees her eyes flutter. She’s alive, badly wounded, but alive. He reaches out to her, to turn her onto her back and stem the bleeding . . . but then stops. She might not deserve to die, but he still can’t save her. Even so, he thinks, nobody deserves to die alone. So he takes her hand, says, softly, “Sally.”

Her eyes flutter again. She draws in a raspy breath. “Never really . . . thought about m’father that much,” she slurs out. “Always figured . . . I had him pegged.” She coughs, weakly, wetly, and blood spatters onto the floor. “I guess even . . . the people you know the best . . . can still surprise you.”

Stiles squeezes her hand, watches the pool of blood spread out on the floor, and she goes still. He reaches out and closes her eyes, then gets back to his feet. The legs of his jeans are soaked with her blood. He looks at others and says, “Gone.”

Chris gives a little nod. Some of the tension starts to drain out of the room. They aren’t all happy with the outcome, but given their choices, worse ones were by far possible.

Movement catches his eye, and Stiles jerks his head towards Sally’s father, who’s been studying her body with quiet intensity. “Don’t!” Stiles shouts, as Ned Stoddard lifts the gun again and presses the barrel against his temple. Chris manages to catch his wrist and twist his arm away just as he pulls the trigger. The bullet impacts in the ceiling and everyone flinches away from the noise.

“Let me – ” Ned’s chest is heaving for breath as he struggles for his weapon. “Damn it, let me – just let me – ”

His struggles stop abruptly as Derek grabs the gun out of his hand. He tosses it to Stiles, who lets it hit the ground before he snatches it, pops out the clip and ejects the chambered bullet. There’s a collective sigh of relief, but it’s barely audible over the sound of the first of Ned’s sobs. He sags to the floor, and Chris helps carry him down.

After a moment, Tom starts to shepherd the other hunters and the pack out of the room. This is private. Ned doesn’t need people gawking at him. Stiles nods when the pack looks at him questioningly, and they leave without complaint. Someone gets a sheet and puts it over Sally’s body.  

As the others are filing out, Deaton kneels down next to where Ned is bent double on the floor. “None of this is your fault,” he says, his voice quiet, calm, indisputable. “What Sally was – what she did – none of that is your fault, Ned.” With that, he squeezes the man’s shoulder once before rising to his feet and leaving the room.

Stiles leans on Derek as they head up the stairs. Derek puts an arm around his shoulders. Seeming to sense how Stiles is feeling, he says, “He’ll be all right.”

“Will he?” Stiles asks.

Derek shrugs, and then nods. “Yeah. You know. Eventually. It _is_ possible to recover from losing everything.”

Stiles lets out a breath. He reaches out and twines Derek’s fingers through his. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few notes!
> 
> 1) Yes, this is the last chapter of TLH! But there will be one more chapter of O&U before the series is finished off, a flash-forward epilogue that I'll have out next week. .......hopefully I'll do better at it than JKR did. I mean. If only because mine is already over 10K. Then I'll have to get the O&U chapters in order and finally get the main series page updated.
> 
> 2) But a housekeeping note or here two since this is officially the end of the series! TSOIP might be wrapping up, but I'm not done with fandom and I'll never be done with writing. So feel free to come check me out [on tumblr](http://gingersnapwolves.tumblr.com/) to stay up to date on what I'm doing, send me asks if you have questions or messages if you just want to chat. ^_^
> 
> 3) Last but definitely not least: I want to say thank you to all of you for reading. This has been such an amazing adventure for me. When I started writing CU three years ago (three fucking years!!!!), I never would have imagined what a monster this series was going to turn into. Hell, I didn't figure that out until I was writing Making Connections. So thank you, all of you, for every hit, every kudo, every comment, every message on tumblr, every everything. I couldn't have asked for a better audience to take this journey with, and I love all of you so much.
> 
> 4) I'm not crying, you're crying.

Stiles knows he should sleep, but he can’t. Instead, he watches the sun rise. Deaton has been working on the weather. He’s not a master like Sally, so it’s taken some time, but he’s getting it cleared up. The rain trailed off to a faint patter a few hours after Sally’s death, and the clouds are starting to disappear. Stiles can see the sun for the first time in a week, and he stands out on the lodge’s back porch with the pack clustered around him, taking deep breaths of the fresh air.

The surf is dying down. As soon as the sun is up and the hour isn’t as unreasonable, most of the hunters are on their phones, calling people to get some assistance and sweep things underneath rugs. The bodies will be handled. The hunters take the news of Sally’s true identity with quiet shock, but there are no protests. Stiles thinks that they just don’t have the energy. At this point, they just want to go home. Boats are coming over to pick up survivors, because it will take some time to build even a temporary bridge.

“What about our cars?” Stiles asks, staring forlornly at his Jeep, which is standing in about a foot of water.

“Someone will have to come back for them later,” Chris says. He glances at Stiles and adds, “Don’t forget, only a few people brought their own cars. Most of these are rentals. Whoever stays behind to handle the clean-up can return them. You can always have yours shipped back to you.”

“Can I do that?” Stiles looks forlornly at his dead phone. Cell service had come back up as soon as the clouds had cleared, but he’s been unable to resurrect his poor hexed phone.

“Yeah. It’s not cheap, but it can be done.”

The first boats take the staff and the wounded. Angela and Vanessa have had a long discussion with the staff about why keeping their mouths shut is the best idea. They’re still in shock, and none of them seem eager to go to the media. They know that people will just think they’re crazy. Stiles hands out Gwen’s number so they can at least call and get a referral to somewhere local. She’ll love him forever.

The kids are on the next boat out. Tom breaks the news to the two Stoddard children about their father. They take it stoically and don’t seem to have much of a reaction. That makes sense to Stiles. He can’t imagine that Jim was a model father. They’re probably better off without him. They’re loaded onto the boat, along with Ned. He has both of them clutched tightly, like he’s afraid to let them go. He hasn’t said much since Sally’s death. Stiles inquires about his wife, Sally’s adoptive mother, and is almost relieved to hear that she died in a car accident two years previous.

When asked, Ned says he has no interest in being a hunter anymore. Jim’s two kids don’t seem to have an opinion on it. Ned murmurs something about just wanting to get away. After some quiet discussion, Chris makes a few calls. There’s an Oblivion facility in Florida, which is about as unlike New England as possible. They agree to take Ned, not as a resident, but as an employee. Chris thinks that will help him, having something constructive to do, helping others.

“I hate to be the one to bring this up,” Vanessa says, “but someone is going to have to take over the Stoddard territory.”

Wednesday is the only one whose territory is contiguous, and she declines the offer, saying that she has more than enough to deal with on her own land. Most of the others feel the same way, and nobody seems eager to move except Sam Argent. “I really wouldn’t mind,” he says. “I’ve missed the ocean. And to be honest, I might prefer a smaller territory, especially while I’m still learning.”

“Okay, but you can’t just up and leave your territory behind,” Hannah says.

Julien looks over at Chris. “You should have it,” he says. “It was the original Argent territory. You deserve it. I mean, you would have had it years ago, if you and Gerard had gotten along.”

“But again, as much as we shuffle around, we’re still one hunter short,” Chris says.

“Well, what about Allison?” Vanessa asks. “I seem to recall you saying she’s the best hunter you’ve ever trained. Repeatedly.”

“Allison is still in school,” Chris protests.

Victoria, for her part, is frowning pensively. She looks over at Allison and says, “What do you think?”

Allison takes a deep breath. “I can do it. I’ll need help in the beginning, and I don’t really want to miss my last few years of college, but I can do it.”

“Help can be provided,” Carmen Gutierrez says. “Marcos and I can be your lieutenants for southern California. Francisco doesn’t want us around anyway. If the Nazarios are willing to help with Nevada . . .”

“And I can watch out for northern California,” Stella Jones says, with a nod. She looks at Chris and says with a smirk, “Hell, I was doing that anyway.”

Chris gives her a look, and a quiet chuckle goes through the room. Grudgingly, he admits, “I guess it might work out.”

“It’s not a bad idea, actually,” Jake pipes up. “I mean, California is actually one of the quietest territories. Your talent is wasted there, if we’re going to be honest. There’s about a two hundred mile radius of dead zone around Beacon Hills, because nobody wants to mess with Stiles and his pack, so . . .”

Allison smiles at him. “I won’t be able to go wrong with Jake to help me out, right?” she says, and Jake flushes pink.

With that settled, there’s some discussion about who’s going to stay behind to help with the clean up. Sam volunteers, since he’ll need to get to know the local lieutenants who weren’t at the Conclave, as well as the Stoddards’ backers. Since he’s staying, Julien says he will as well.

Tom grips Stiles’ shoulder as he watches the Argents cluster around to talk about what’s going to come next. “Come on, you,” he says. “We’re on the next boat out. We can get you some plane tickets home and have your Jeep shipped back once the bridge is back up.”

Stiles nods and goes looking for his pack to make sure they’ve gotten everything together. He runs into Justin doing the same thing. “Hey, want to go back to Beacon Hills with us? Cora could have a real visit with her brother, since this sure as hell didn’t count.”

“Can’t,” Justin says briskly. “That musclebound buddy of yours is gonna take me and mine up to the prison, now that Ned’s told us where to find it. Need to make sure that nobody’s still there, and that any bodies left get a proper burial and everything.”

“Oh. Okay, good plan.” Stiles shoves both hands through his hair. “Sorry we got you into this.”

Justin shrugs. “I’m glad I was here.” There’s a moment of silence, and then Justin says, “Hey, don’t look so glum. This week sucked like a hooker in a gravity well, but we got through it. Things will be better now.”

“I hope you’re right,” Stiles says. He says goodbye to the rest of the alpha pack and heads back downstairs.

They gather outside to wait for the next boat, and find Francisco Gutierrez getting into an argument with his younger brother. “I’m not staying here!” he’s shouting as they reach the docks.

“Well, you can’t come back with us,” Cesar Gutierrez says, his arms folded over his chest. “You’re a werewolf.”

“Still?” Stiles asks. “Jesus Christ, really?”

Francisco turns a huge scowl on him. “Stay out of this!”

Stiles loses his temper. He glances around to make sure nobody else besides his pack is around, then pulls out his .38 and points it right at Francisco’s face. “You hate being a werewolf so much? Don’t hunters normally commit suicide after they get turned? Okay, I’ll do you the favor. You’ve been a werewolf for three days now. You know what it’s like. So look me in the God damned eye and tell me that you’d rather me shoot you than go on as a werewolf.”

Francisco’s mouth sags open. He sputters incoherently for a moment, then his jaw sets in an expression of anger. “It isn’t – it’s not like – ”

As he talks, the fangs recede. The sideburns disappear, and his face returns to normal.

“Finally!” a feminine voice says, and they all twist around to see a coyote sunning herself on the dock. Stiles is excruciatingly sure that it hadn’t been there ten seconds previous. “I thought I was going to have to smuggle into his luggage and go home with him!”

“Uh,” Stiles says.

The coyote winks at him. She stands, stretches, and trots down the dock and into the woods. Moments later, she’s disappeared from view.

“Well, that was . . . different,” Derek says.

“Oh, thank God you saw it too,” Stiles blurts out. “I thought I was fucking hallucinating.”

They load onto the boat, leaving the bickering Gutierrez family behind. Janea and her pack, as well as Blaine Acklin, are riding with them. Janea is crying quietly, holding onto one of her other pack members. Tom sits down with her and talks to her about getting back to her own territory and the legalities of having been missing for several months. They’ll get her taken care of, he says. Stiles gives her Gwen’s number.

“I feel like Oprah,” he remarks to the pack. “You get a therapist! You get a therapist! Everybody gets a therapist!”

“I will throw you off this boat,” Jackson says.

Blaine, it’s been decided, will go back to Beacon Hills. Deaton says he’ll look after him. His magic is too strong to leave him without someone who will know how to handle him. But he’s not inclined towards doing dark magic – in fact, Deaton doesn’t think he’s ever done any – so there’s no harm in letting him keep his power. Jackson has already been on the phone with his parents to report to them that they have another son, and Blaine – who was an orphan long before he met his sorcery teacher – can’t stop smiling. Ian is back in his parrot form, perched on Blaine’s shoulder and preening. When Stiles asks where he plans to go next, Ian just says, “Wherever the wind takes me, I suppose.”

Everything seems to be taken care of for the moment. There’s a lot they’re going to have to do in the long-term, but the worst of it is over. Stiles nods off on the boat, then nods off in the airport, and then nods off on the plane. He jolts awake when the bad dreams start. Derek is frowning at him in obvious concern.

“I’m okay,” Stiles says, and wonders if he ever really will be.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

It’s sunny and eighty-five degrees in Fresno, which is a bit too hot for Stiles to sit outside, despite how much he’d like to. So he slumps onto the sofa in Gwen’s office while Derek settles at his feet. He’s glad to be there again. He wouldn’t have admitted it, but he’s missed his sessions with Gwen. She’s been at the Oblivion facility since early March.

“Good to be back?” Gwen asks, smiling at him.

“Yeah. I bet you appreciate it, too.”

“It was nice to get back home, yes.” Gwen accepts the latte he offers with a smile of thanks. “You look a little under the weather.”

“I’m tired,” he admits. “I haven’t been sleeping well since getting back.” He had e-mailed her to let her know everything that had happened during the Conclave. It would have taken far too long to explain everything.

“Okay. How do you feel?”

Stiles searches for the answer to that question for a long minute. “I don’t know,” he says. “I feel almost numb, a lot of the time. I feel . . . heavy. Like . . . it’s like being tired, but it’s more than tired.”

“Depressed?”

“A little, I guess.” Stiles picks at his cuticles. “I feel fucking _frustrated_.”

“Okay. Why?”

“Because – because it’s _over_. It’s finally fucking over. I should be happy. Hell, I should be ecstatic. And yeah, I’m relieved, that’s no lie, but I thought I’d feel better than this. I thought – I thought I’d feel _better_. But the nightmares are worse than ever. I keep dreaming about finding dead bodies. About that hunter who tried to kill me. I just – it’s finally over, so shouldn’t I be better?”

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Gwen says. “Let me ask you a question which has a very obvious answer, but one that you clearly haven’t thought about. What does the ‘P’ in PTSD stand for?”

Stiles blinks at her, then huffs out a sigh. “Post.”

“Right. PTSD is what happens _after_. You’re in the after, now. It’s over, yes, and that’s great. Now you can focus, really focus, on healing. But Sally being gone doesn’t mean a switch gets flipped and your PTSD is suddenly cured, any more than a veteran suddenly ‘stops’ having PTSD when they get home from combat. Exactly the opposite. There’s every reason for it to be flaring up again. PTSD is a long-term condition, Stiles. And given the week you just had, there’s no shame in having a recurrence of symptoms.”

After a moment, Stiles shoves both hands through his hair. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

Gwen gives him a minute to let that settle, and redirects so it has more time. “How are the others doing?”

“They’re okay. I mean, most of the pack never got it right in the gut the way I did. Allison’s having some anxiety over the idea of taking over the territory, but she’ll be okay. Derek is . . . Derek.” He nudges the wolf with his toe. Derek opens one eye, shows fang, and then goes back to sleep. “Jackson’s a little shaken up, but I think he’ll be okay. It helps him to have Blaine to look after. Chris is good. He won’t admit it, but he’s really glad Sally’s dead. I think he still had bad dreams about what she did to him. Anyway, he’s psyched to have the original Argent territory back. That kind of shit is important to him.”

“How’s your father?”

“Okay. He’s handling it better than I am, that’s for sure. Yeah, he’s disturbed as fuck at some of what happened, but he just . . . puts it behind him in a way that I can’t.” Stiles’ voice is colored with frustrated again. “God, I don’t know why I can’t do that.”

Patiently, Gwen says, “PTSD is a medical condition, Stiles. It doesn’t make you weak, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Do we know exactly what neurotransmitters or genetics are responsible? No. But that doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

Stiles lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Have you been having flashbacks or just nightmares?”

“Just nightmares. But I’ve been taking my Lunesta to help me sleep. I don’t want to risk getting sleep deprived and having hallucinations.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Gwen says. “Hypervigilance?”

Stiles fidgets. “Yeah. Really bad, to be honest. Bad enough that I haven’t wanted to leave the house much, I just feel so . . . creepy-crawly when I’m out and about, even if I’m not alone.”

Gwen sets down her pen. “Have you given any more thought to getting an actual service dog? Last time we discussed it, you didn’t seem eager to . . . how did you put this? Introduce an innocent canine into the chaos that’s your life? But now that Sally is gone, things should settle down for you.”

“Maybe.” Stiles chews on his lower lip. “I have to admit that . . . I don’t think I’ll be able to start classes again without someone there with me. And even though Derek says he doesn’t mind, it’s not fair to drag him around with me everywhere I go.”

“Well, you have time over the summer to focus on managing your anxiety,” Gwen says. “There’s no need to make a decision right away.”

“I guess so.” Stiles’ gaze flits up. “I’m just – I’m really tired, Gwen.”

“That’s okay, Stiles.” Gwen’s voice is firm. “The fact that you’re tired, that you’re depressed and frustrated, that’s _okay_. You had a horrible week, to put it very mildly. You’ve been under enormous amounts of stress. Yes, now that the pressure off, it would make sense for you to be happy. But it _also_ makes sense for you to not be. You’ve been suppressing all your emotions, not allowing yourself to feel anything, while you’ve been preparing for the Conclave. It’s catching up to you now. And that’s okay, Stiles. You can feel however you feel without it meaning that you’re weak or wrong.”

Stiles wipes his eyes. “So what – what do I do?”

“You take time for yourself. You do things that you enjoy. Nap whenever you want, bake as many cookies as you can handle, watch all the movies you’ve missed. Surround yourself with people you love. Talk about how you’re feeling. And most importantly, you give yourself _time_. Healing takes time, Stiles, and there’s no shame in that. We’ll keep working on how to manage your anxiety, but if you don’t want to leave the house for a few days, then don’t. I think a little self-indulgence is no bad thing at this juncture. You would indulge any of the other pack members, wouldn’t you? You need to be kind to yourself, Stiles. You deserve that.”

After a minute, Stiles lets out a breath and wipes his eyes again. “Thanks. I think – I needed to hear that.”

Gwen regards him for a minute before saying, “I know it’s not something we’ve talked about in the past, but you might want to think about an anti-anxiety medication. At least for the short-term, to help you manage the – perfectly understandable, I remind you – anxiety you feel about going out. Just think about that, okay? For now, we’re going to work on meditation and redirecting irrational thoughts. We’ll take it one step at a time. Just be patient with yourself.”

“Okay.” Stiles breathes out slowly and closes his eyes for a moment. “Okay.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

The first order of self-care business, Stiles decides, is taking a nap. The trip to Fresno has exhausted him. He flops down on the sofa with a handful of wolves, but tells them firmly that once he’s asleep, they’re welcome to wander off if they get bored. He’ll probably sleep a couple of hours.

It turns out to be three, and he does feel better when he wakes up, which surprises him. He yawns and stretches and goes looking to find something to eat. The refrigerator and the pantry are both full. Derek has clearly told the others about how Stiles is supposed to be taking care of himself. They’ve gotten him enough baking supplies to feed an army. Sitting on top of the new bag of flour is a quick sketch of a wolf sitting up with its paws in a begging position. Little lines have been drawn by the tail to indicate that it’s wagging. Underneath that, Derek has written, ‘gingersnaps?’

Stiles laughs and starts organizing what the others have gotten him. As always, the recipe comes easily. He’s done it so many times that he barely needs to measure anymore, let alone look at the recipe. He adds in an extra teaspoon of ginger and cinnamon, the way Derek likes, and puts the dough in the fridge to set. He gives his father a quick call to let him know that he’s expected home for dinner the next day, and to invite Melissa, because he’s going to cook them an awesome dinner-date meal. Tom laughs and protests with meaning it. Once that’s done, Stiles goes looking for his pack.

Everyone is wrapped up in their own things, enjoying themselves. Allison and Jake are sitting with their heads together, going over some sort of arcane hunter statistics. Scott, Isaac, and Danny are tossing around a lacrosse ball in the back yard. Lydia and Erica are experimenting with makeup on each other. Boyd and Mac are playing Scrabble. He greets all of them, exchanges cheek rubs and hugs, a few words of suggestion on the makeup, a killer word in the game of Scrabble, a few minutes trying to intercept the lacrosse ball, a shoulder rub for Allison, who’s going to do great.

He finds Derek in his studio, with a little red smear of paint across his cheek, and immediately starts trying to climb him, wrapping his arms and legs around Derek and clinging like a limpet. “Get off me,” Derek growls amiably. “Why are you always on me?” he adds, as rhetorical as ever, as he burrows his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck, and smiles.

 

~fin~

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Ten Little Hunters [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12485792) by [Opalsong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opalsong/pseuds/Opalsong)




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